


proclaim the truth and do not be silent through fear

by lavenderlotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Kissing, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Bad Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bad Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Child Neglect, Coach Finstock is a Hunter, Communication, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Dates, First Kiss, Getting to Know Each Other, Greenberg is a Hunter, Healthy Relationships, Hugging, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Insecurity, M/M, MORE emotional Hurt/Comfort, Making Out, Neglected Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Post-Season/Series 02, Protective Sheriff Stilinski, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Negotiation, Sharing Clothes, Stilinski Family Feels, Texting, cheek kiss, hand-holding, hunter dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2020-10-11 07:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20542391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: Greenbergnoticed and asked if he was okay. FuckingGreenberg.





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles is standing at his locker alone, the hallways cleared out around him. School’s been done long enough that there's no one else around, but Stiles still doesn't want to move. He's tired, and he's sore, and he went an entire day without a single one of his friends asking about his split lip or scratched up cheekbone. At one point, Scott had clapped him on the shoulder hard enough that his eyes began to water as pain seized his body, Scott’s palm having hit the exact place Gerard had dug a knife into his skin.

He had been sitting at the cafeteria table, surrounded by people who were supposed to be his friends, his  _ pack, _ and none of them said a single thing. Now, he doesn't want to go home, not when the house is going to be empty and too quiet. The LED lights that line the hallway’s ceiling are comfortingly bright, nothing like the bare, worn-out bulbs that lit the basement.

Stiles stares into his locker mindlessly, breathing slowly and evenly as not to pull at his ribs. He doesn't think they're broken, but Gerard had stomped his booted foot into them and it still hurts when he breathes too deeply.

It's getting late, he knows, but he doesn't want to move. Stiles knows that it's going to hurt if he does, and he doesn’t want to deal with that. Both of his pinky toes are broken and every step he takes sends pain shooting up his legs. He takes a deep breath, trying to work up the energy to make the walk home—since his Jeep is little more than a pile of scraps Stiles doesn’t have the money to fix—and reaches out to grab his notebook when someone calls his name.

Stiles startles so badly that he jumps, his entire body freezing up and going so tense that he has to force himself to relax his body through the overwhelming rush of pain. He can't breathe, not with his ribs aching and his chest so tight that it isn’t even worth it to try. He closes his eyes and holds his breath as he waits for the pain to subside, slowly breathing in a small lungful of air before letting it out even slower.

“Oh shoot, I'm sorry, oh my gosh,  _ Stiles,  _ are you okay? W-what happened?” Greenberg's voice is soft, and the bass is a pleasing rumble that soothes something inside of Stiles' chest. Stiles shakes his head and bites into his bottom lip in a desperate attempt to hold in a crazed laugh that would surely hurt his chest.

_ Greenberg _ noticed and asked if he was okay. Fucking  _ Greenberg. _

A hand touches the small of his back, tentative, and Stiles makes a hurt noise in the back of his throat. Apart from his dad, no one has touched Stiles this gently in months, and the thought hurts, makes him curve his shoulders inwards despite the way it pulls at his aching bones and crushes his sore ribs. The hand slides around his waist and Stiles turns into it, letting Greenberg—Sam, considering he's crying against his shoulder in the empty hallway—wrap him in a gentle hug.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbles through a thick voice, but he doesn't pull away. Sam's arms are firm where they’re wrapped around him, biceps thicker than Stiles has ever noticed, and he lets himself rest against a boy he barely knows but was the only one who noticed he was hurt, and not he doesn’t worry about holding himself up as he falls apart.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam ends up driving him home. 

Stiles doesn’t ask him for a ride, but apparently, he’s  _ also  _ noticed that Stiles isn’t currently driving his Jeep. Which, it’s a pretty notable car, but none of the pack noticed. 

By the time Stiles gets from his front door all the way to his bedroom, he's thought of  _ at least _ forty-three different lies to spew at Sam as soon as he sees him tomorrow. But, as he slowly lowers himself onto the soft down top of his mattress, he can't bring himself to even  _ think  _ about going through with telling him any of the ridiculous tales he's crafted up. 

He decides then, with the memory of how warm Sam's hand felt wrapped around his upper thigh and how sweet the boy's voice sounded as he sang along with the radio during the drive home, that if he asks, Stiles will tell him the truth.

Because Sam didn’t ask him anything while he held Stiles in the hallway. Rather, he stood there silently, holding Stiles in arms that felt strong enough for him to break apart in, rubbing his back and murmuring nonsense that Stiles didn't listen to but took comfort in. He then led Stiles to his car—a rather nice little two-door that Stiles had never taken notice of before—while supporting nearly all of his weight with an arm that was wrapped around Stiles’ waist.

While he drove Stiles home, he reached across the centre console and wrapped a hand around Stiles’ thigh when he started to shiver despite the heat that was blasting through the cabin at his own request. Sam didn’t ask him what was wrong the whole drive and kept silent even as he insisted on walking Stiles to his front door. 

There had been a moment of  _ something _ after Stiles pushed the front door open but before he left the comfort that Sam's hand on his hip brought him, where they stared into each other's eyes and Stiles felt like he was seeing the other boy for the very first time, despite having been in school together since seventh grade.

Now, star-fished out on his bed, he knows that if he tells Sam the truth, there's a good chance he'll be believed. It's something he's never felt when thinking about his dad, and it's a relief, the idea of being able to tell someone else about the nightmare that his life has become. He thinks about telling Sam, how the other boy might react, as he pushes himself back to his feet and waddles to his bathroom. 

Everything hurts, but Stiles has cuts he needs to dress and ribs he needs to re-wrap. It’s just short of excruciating, and Stiles has never been more thankful that his dad works nights as he is when he lets out a whimper taping his toes together. Once he’s done all he can, he waddles even slower back to his room and settles himself gently onto his bed, mind still stuck on how Sam held him and all but carried him out of the school and never once asked what was wrong. 

And, as Stiles settles onto his side in a way that doesn't hurt his ribs too much, he starts to think about how much he enjoyed just sitting with Sam and listening to him sing along with the radio, and how the warmth of his hand seemed to spread through Stiles’ entire body until it was the only thing he could feel, and exactly what that might mean.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite his best efforts, Stiles doesn't get much sleep. Between the aching pain in his entire body and the nightmares that won't seem to leave him alone, he spends an entire nine hours restlessly tossing and turning with no hope of getting any real rest. It's frustrating, and by the time he's pulling on a pair of jeans and biting into his bottom lip to keep from crying out in pain, he's exhausted.

All he can stomach to eat is three bites of an apple and a single sip of coffee. The steaming beverage is too bitter, and even though he's always drank it black, it slides down his throat tasting like acid. He's thankful his dad isn't there, probably passed out upstairs after the double he worked. Stiles thought that his dad finding him so beat up and bloody would have gotten the man to spend more time at home, but. 

Instead, he’s working just as much as he has been since the school year started and an uncrossable chasm of lies crafted to keep him safe started to separate them. Stiles can’t blame his dad for working more, not when it’s pretty much Stiles’ fault to begin with. 

There's a pile of change on the counter for a cab, and Stiles pockets it thankfully. It sure as hell beats walking.

Sam is standing at Stiles’ locker when he finally wobbles through the front doors, and his face breaks out into a smile that feels foreign to him after the last handful of months of mind-numbing stress being his default setting. Usually, Stiles would meet Scott by the front doors, but that stopped around the same time the other boy met Allison. Now, it's been months since Stiles last talked to someone before lunch—the first time Scott and Stiles see each other during the day.

So, seeing Sam standing at his locker is a welcome surprise.

“Heya,” Stiles says happily, trying not to come off too enthusiastic. If his toes weren't broken, he'd probably be bouncing on his feet at the sight of Sam waiting for him.

“I thought you might need this,” Sam says, holding out a cup from Beacon Brews. “It's just hot chocolate. I wasn't sure if you drank coffee or how it would affect you if you did, so....”

“Thanks, Sam,” Stiles says, grabbing the drink and taking a large sip that burns his tongue. He feels the warmth of the drink slide down his throat and settle in his stomach, and smiles.

“How are you doing?” Sam asks, and now that Stiles is looking at him closely, he can see the concern in the other boy's rather pretty eyes. Before Stiles can freak out about  _ that _ revelation, Sam says, “I really didn't want to leave after dropping you off, but I couldn't really think of a smooth reason to stay that wasn't ‘I was worried about you’.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that,” Stiles says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and then wincing at the way it pulls his ribs. Immediately Sam reaches out, one hand curling around Stiles' hip and the other grabbing his backpack and taking it from his shoulder. When Sam’s words actually register, Stiles feels his cheeks start to turn pink, a little surprised at the easy declaration of care. “I'm okay. Well not really. I am totally not okay, but I will be. Bodies heal, ya know? I'll be fine in a little while, once everything stops hurting. Nothing is broken—well not my toes, those are totally broke, but only the pinky ones so even that isn't  _ that _ bad. At least I can still walk even if it does hurt a bit so it could totally be way worse than that!”

“Sti,” Sam says softly, and the nickname shuts him up. “What happened?”

Stiles looks into Sam's eyes and knows he can't lie—but he also can't tell him about werewolves in the middle of the hallway. “I-if you want, you can come over after school? And I'll tell you everything then, okay?”

Sam stares at him heavily for longer than Stiles knows how to handle. It feels like he can't breathe, so he holds his breath until finally, Sam drops his eyes. “Okay. Yeah, that's—okay. I'll meet you here at the last bell, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles echoes, smiling at the idea. They may not \be friends, but Stiles really likes the thought that they  _ could  _ be.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles walks into the cafeteria with his eyes already scanning the tables for a certain head of messy hair. Today, Stiles doesn't even bother sitting with the pack. It sure as hell hadn't done him any good yesterday, and he doesn't have the energy to fake his usual enthusiasm. His feet have been killing him, aching worse and worse as the day went on and not even letting up during class when he spent what he thought would be blissful hours sitting. 

He doesn't have any food with him, and his fingers brush over themselves and tangle together as he stands one step to the side of the cafeteria doors trying not to look awkward.

Just as he's about to give up and head to his locker, he spots the bright yellow shirt Sam was wearing that morning. It makes his lips twitch in the vaguest expression of a smile, though his first step turns it back into a grimace. The pack usually sits against the far wall and Sam's all the way by the doors, so it only takes a few steps before he can plop himself down across from him.

Sam’s head snaps up, his eyes going wide as his face splits into a smile wider than anything Stiles has seen on his face before. It makes him blush; his cheeks get warm as he looks into Sam's bright eyes, greener—and prettier—than Stiles had ever realized. 

“Stiles!” Sam greets enthusiastically, sounding genuinely happy that Stiles has joined him. No one has sounded that happy to see him in...well, in months. The thought makes his chest feel tight, but he pushes away the rush of sadness and focuses as Sam continues to speak. “How's your day going?”

Stiles shrugs, smiling back at him. He knows his grin is small, but it's all he's able to muster with how badly his entire body seems to be aching. He hopes that Sam doesn't mind that Stiles isn’t matching his enthusiasm, he just...can’t. Not right now. Stiles does his best not to think about how it would have made Scott upset, especially if he had been excited about something like Sam seems to be. 

Sighing, Stiles does his best to work up a smile that looks genuine, staring at where he’s folded his hands together on the table. The skin around his nails and red and picked at, and Stiles has to actively stop himself from picking at a hangnail as the pressure in his chest increases. God, why can’t he just  _ smile? _

He startles when something brushes his knuckles, though he calms down immediately when he realizes that it’s only Sam’s fingers brushing over the back of his hand. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Sam asks him, but quieter than before. He really sounds like he wants to know. The genuine care in his eyes is odd.

Stiles nods, shrugs, then decides to be as honest as possible and say, “My feet hurt. I think these shoes are tighter than the pair I was wearing yesterday, and my toes are really hurting.”

“Your pinky toes are broken, right?” Sam asks, drawing little shapes into the back of Stiles’ hand that send goosebumps up his whole arm. Stiles nods, a little startled that Sam actually remembered—Scott’s never been very good at remembering the things that Stiles tells him unless they directly involve him. “If you're not feeling up to me coming over tonight, I can just drive you home and take off. I could come over another night, maybe, if you wanted me to?”

“No,” Stiles says quickly, leaning forward too fast and pulling at his ribs. He winces, and Sam's fingers are warm when they slide up his hand and carefully wrap around his wrist. “I want you to come over but...you might not believe me.”

There's something in Sam's eyes when he says, “Trust me, there isn't much I wouldn't believe,” that makes Stiles trust him, and hope rushes up his chest.

“Okay,” Stiles says, not moving his arm and smiling a hair wider than earlier when Sam doesn't move his hand. The hope in his chest, something warm and comforting that makes it even easier to smile, grows when Sam smiles at him. “Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

“So I was thinking maybe we could get a coffee first?” Stiles' voice cracks, and he feels his face heat up as embarrassment rushes through him. He drops his eyes from where he'd been watching Sam's face, staring at the tiled floor of the school. Sam's sneakers are tied up with electric green laces, and the sight has the corners of Stiles' lips twitching up despite his nerves.

“Yeah, I could go for another coffee,” Sam says with a shrug Stiles sees from the corner of his eye. “Was the hot chocolate this morning good?”

Stiles lets his eyes trail up Sam's locker before landing on his face, and he offers him a real smile; the expression feels foreign, still, and it makes Stiles' skin itch. “It was amazing. Exactly what I needed.”

Something in Sam's face gets warmer. Maybe it's the look in his eyes or the curve of his lips, but Stiles finds that he never wants to look away. He does, because continuing to stare at him would just be weird and kinda creepy, and Stiles is enough of both of those things by default to risk it. “Good. Would...it be okay if this was, if we went—” Sam cuts himself off with a noise that sounds frustrated. He takes a few deep breaths and Stiles waits quietly for the boy to continue, his heart racing. “Could this be a date?”

Stiles' head snaps up, his eyes going extremely wide as his heart starts to pound even faster. His very first thought is that Sam just read his mind, but then the other boy rubs the back of his neck and ducks his own eyes and continues with, “Cause I would, uh, really like it if it was?”

“Really?” he asks in a whisper. Stiles sways closer, drawn in by the sheepish smile and flushed cheeks that Sam is sporting.

“Y-yeah?” It sounds like a question, and Sam bites into his bottom lip in a _ very _ distracting way. “I, uh, have had a crush on you or a while, actually, but everyone always said that you were in love with Lydia and you guys have seemed closer recently, your whole group of friends, but...they aren't good for you.”

The last part is spoken with so much conviction that Stiles shivers. A denial is on the tip of his tongue but it gets trapped in his throat when a pulse of pain shoots through him, just for shifting his weight and forgetting that his toes are fucked. Because Gerard kidnapped him to send a message to Scott, and then he rushed off and drove through a fucking _ warehouse _ just to save the day by delivering Lydia to her true love. 

He shakes his head, biting into his bottom lip and ignoring the sting from the still healing split. Sam grabs his hand, and Stiles' eyes snap to where the other boy is twining their fingers together. “I know we don't really know each other but... I've wanted to ask you out since the eighth grade when you called Jackson a ball sack for tripping me. I have to admit I've kinda watched you—oh my god, no, that sounds so creepy Sam what the hell—I haven't _ watched _ you, I just, ya know, think you're super cute? Right? So I look at you sometimes because you're hot and just. Something's been going on for a while. And something really bad happened, and I'm pretty sure that you weren't kidnapped by the other lacrosse team.”

By the time he pauses for breath, Stiles' free hand is shaking. Sam notices and grabs it, holding both their hands together. It helps calm the panic that's rising in his throat as Sam talks about everything that he's noticed, so unused to anyone noticing anything about what's going on. For a long minute, he stands there and looks into Sam’s eyes and wonders how he never noticed him, how he brushed him off just like everyone else.

“I’m not going to make you tell me what happened,” Sam says quietly. The hallway is empty around them—like he usually does now, Stiles waited until his classroom had emptied out around him before leaving, and Sam had been outside the door waiting for him. “I know you said that you would, and I would love for you to, just because I don’t think you have anyone else that you can tell, but...if you just want to get coffee, and then go home, that’s fine. I’m not going to make you do something you don’t want to do, Sti.”

He nods, though only because he knows that his voice would crumble out of him if he were to try to speak. It’s a little unbelievable, to have someone being so nice, sounding so worried, all about _ him, _ and it makes him feel sort of breathless. Then, there’s also the fact that Sam apparently _ likes _him, and has for a while. Stiles is so used to being put down, to the plethora of reasons no one would ever want to date him that Lydia always has in her back pocket when he tries to ask her out that it’s...

He doesn’t really believe it. But Sam is holding his hands in the middle of the hallway, even if it’s empty, and staring at him with very, very pretty eyes and an even prettier smile, and Stiles is breathless, and his heart is racing. “It can be a date,” he whispers, his heart filling when Sam smiles at him like he's just made his entire _ week, _and when he smiles back, it's so, so easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think and if you have any ideas for this story!


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as they walk into  _ Beacon Brews, _ a wave of sound washes over them and makes Stiles tense despite himself. The noise is a lot, but the crowd is even worse. The coffee shop is packed full of people; expected, considering school ended not even an hour ago. It makes Stiles' skin itch, and he hates Gerard more than he ever has as the crowded space forces panic up his throat.

God. He wasn't even taken in a crowded area—well not really, seeing as it was just the lacrosse team on the field—but ever since that night, crowds have made him anxious in a way they never did before.

Stiles startles when fingers brush the back of his hand, and he looks down with wide eyes to see Sam's hand hesitantly reaching out to his, the tips of Sam's fingers brushing over the back of Stiles' hand and his knuckles before very slowly slipping between his fingers. He doesn't look up, not sure if he's ready to see the expression on Sam's face, but he focuses on the contact until the chattering around him fades away to the background.

“Is this okay?” Sam asks him quietly, turning himself towards Stiles until he's shielding his entire side with his body. Stiles takes a deep breath, leaning ever so slightly into Sam's chest and noticing that the other boy is a few inches taller than him for the first time. He nods, the tension that had been building along his shoulders easing a little as he twines their fingers together and squeezes tightly.

It's so much easier to breathe with Sam holding his hand. It makes him feel giddy, having their fingers wrapped together like they are. He's never held hands with anyone, let alone someone who confessed that they liked him and wanted to date him. Stiles looks up at Sam's face out of the corner of his eye and takes in his features closely.

Sam is...much more attractive that Stiles has ever noticed before, with floppy blonde hair and bright green eyes. He has big ears, which is something that Stiles thinks is absolutely adorable, and he has to bite his bottom lip to hold in a snicker. Sam notices and raises an eyebrow at him, but he doesn't say anything as they shuffle forward in line. Stiles sways to the side, pressing his shoulder more firmly against Sam's chest which causes him to grin down at him, pink lips stretching over nice teeth in a way that makes Stiles' heart race.

Without Stiles noticing, they make it to the counter. Stiles blinks up at the board to the tune of Sam chuckling next to his ear and does his best to ignore the way his cheeks are getting warmer and warmer. He's the one that said he wanted to date Stiles, so he probably won't be bothered by Stiles staring at him...right?

“Hey, can we get a large hot chocolate with double chocolate and whipped cream on top, and a medium coffee with two sugars, please?”

The barista says something that Stiles doesn't pay attention to, looking back at Sam and getting lost tracking the swirls of grey that line his iris. He only snaps out of it when Sam shifts and pulls out a wallet, flipping it open one-handed and propping it against his stomach to slip out a card.

“Oh, I can pay,” Stiles says, but Sam pulls him closer by their still-joined hands and taps his card against the debit machine before Stiles can even reach for his wallet.

“No problem, Sti. I'm the one that asked you out, so it's on me,” Sam tells him with another sunny grin. Stiles is starting to wonder just what he would do to ensure he gets to keep seeing the other boy's smile regularly.

“I'll get it next time, then.” He doesn't have a job and they don't really have any spare money, especially with his Jeep a pile of scrap metal sitting in their garage, but he can probably swing something. It wouldn't be the first time he sold an essay or did someone's homework for money, and at least this time it would be for a date and not just another video game.

“Next time?” Sam asks him happily, a silly looking grin stretching his lips up. Stiles feels his cheeks get warm again and he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand before muttering, “Yeah, if you want there to be one?”

Sam snorts, but explains, “Dude,  _ of course _ I want to go out with you again. Did you miss the totally embarrassing confession from earlier? I was pretty sure that you were there too...”

Sam trails with a look of mock distress. Stiles snorts, pulling his hand free so he can put the two ready drinks into a carry tray and pick it up, slipping their hands back together immediately after he has them. “C'mon,” Stiles tells him, “we'll head to my house. I have some things to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey-o i turn twenty in a few hours!


	7. Chapter 7

They hold hands during the whole drive home. It feels a million times better than it did the night before when Sam's hand had wrapped around his leg in a bid to stop his shivering. In comparison, Stiles didn't just have a mental breakdown and he doesn't feel like he's splitting apart at the seams. Sam's hand in his is grounding, and even though his hand is getting clammy, Stiles can't imagine letting go when their fingers fit so perfectly together.

“Sorry I've been so spacey,” Stiles mutters, looking at where he's pulled their joined hands into his lap and is cradling Sam’s hand between both of his. Sam's a few shades tanner than he is, which isn't saying too much with how pale Stiles is, but he finds that he likes the contrast. He runs a finger over Sam’s knuckles as he works out what he wants to say. “I haven't been sleeping well for...forever, really, but it's been worse since—”

“We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to share,” Sam tells him seriously when Stiles trails off. Stiles is watching him from the corner of his eyes so he sees when Sam takes his eyes off the road to look him over quickly. “It's okay, really. I'm curious, but I'm curious because I...I care about you. If there's something that hurt you I—” Sam cuts himself off, squeezing Stiles' hand tightly before falling back into silence. Stiles hums, but he doesn't say anything right away either.

He's never had someone so plainly declare that they care about him. His and Scott's friendship was formed in a twisted sort of necessity: both of them had been social outcasts for different reasons, and they clung to one another because neither of them had anyone else. Being a kid is hard enough as it is, but being a kid that no one else likes...that freaking sucks. Stiles loves him, sure, but sometimes he wonders how much Scott cares about him in return, and how much of their continued friendship is only continued because it's become a habit to be friends.

Having Sam tell him that he cares about him makes his heart race, and Stiles knows he's blushing without having to look into the side mirror to check. Thankfully Sam doesn't call him out on it, and they continue driving in silence—Sam driving one-handed should  _ not _ be as hot as it is, but Stiles finds that he can't, or maybe just won't, look away—until Stiles finds something to say. 

“I'm really sorry I never talked to you before,” he admits quietly. It had kept him up last night, trying to think back to a single time he had spoken to Sam and coming up with nothing. He’s always just been  _ Greenberg, _ and the more Stiles thinks of it, the more he realizes that he can’t really remember  _ anyone _ ever talking to him. 

“What?” Sam asks sharply, snapping his head over to Stiles before slowly returning his eyes back to the road. “Stiles, what?”

“I just...you've been so nice to me, and you're so sweet and you're, uhm, also really cute? Like super cute, actually, I don't know how I never noticed that before—” “—people tend to overlook me, it's not a big deal—” “—and I just wish I had noticed you sooner, is all.”

Sam is quiet for the rest of the drive, seeing as it only takes another few minutes before they're pulling up to the curb outside of Stiles' house. His dad's cruiser isn't in the driveway, which he knows he should have expected but finds that it still stings familiarly. He's pulled from that line of thinking when Sam tugs their joined hands up to his mouth and brushes a kiss against Stiles knuckles, which,  _ oh my God. _

“We can't go back, and we shouldn't. Who knows what would have happened if we had become friends last year, or the year before? What did or didn't happen doesn't matter as much as what is happening  _ now, _ okay?”

Stiles nods, staring back into Sam's eyes. The other boy is looking at him so intently that Stiles can't even imagine looking away, drawn in by his pretty green eyes and how much emotion that they hold. It feels ridiculous that Stiles never noticed Sam, that he brushed him off as  _ 'Greenberg' _ just like everyone else in their school. Sam already means so much to him. 

In a fit of potentially reckless bravery, Stiles sways forward and kisses his cheek, close enough to his lips that he  _ hopes _ it doesn't seem friendly, but far enough that he could still try to claim it as innocent if he really needed to. He lingers, just for a second, and breathes in Sam's spicy scent before settling back in his seat. 

He is very pleased to note that he isn't the only one who's blushing like an idiot, and the smile on Sam's face is downright giddy: his lips are stretched into a giant grin that wrinkles the skin around his eyes and shows off all of his teeth. Stiles lets out a noise far too close to a giggle and slaps his free hand over his mouth with wide eyes, barely registering the pain that shoots through his lips when all he can feel from them is the fantom press of Sam’s cheek.

Sam laughs at him kindly, raising an eyebrow in a question that has Stiles nodding eagerly. This time when Stiles leans in, Sam meets him halfway and their lips bump together awkwardly. Pursing his lips, Stiles silently wonders how long he's supposed to stay there for. Just as he's about to move away, Sam tilts his head to the side, their lips lining up better, and  _ damn, _ Stiles suddenly understands all the excitement surrounding kissing.

His eyes fall closed without him even noticing, and he sucks in a breath through his nose, moving his lips a bit as Sam's free hand cups his cheek. His fingers are long enough that they reach his ear, and Stiles shivers at the feeling of having Sam's hand on his face while their lips slide together slowly, hesitantly. He has no idea what he’s doing, but Sam seems to be figuring it out along with him, and that eases whatever worry might have built within his chest.

There's almost too much going on for Stiles to take it all in, and a part of him that feels overwhelmed by everything he’s feeling is glad when Sam moves just enough that their foreheads rest together, but they’re no longer actually kissing.

“Wow,” Sam whispers. Stiles feels his breath hit his bottom lip and it makes him shiver.

“Wow,” he agrees, not bothering to open his eyes or move back or do anything but let the pure, unaltered joy of sharing his first kiss with a cute boy who  _ likes _ him rush over him and settle into his bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lets see how long i can keep going with updating every sunday, hmm? comment if you have any ideas for this verse!


	8. Chapter 8

“And...this is my bedroom!” Stiles says with a flourish of his arms, wincing in pain and then cringing back when he spots a dirty pair of boxers beside his bed and catches the disarray that is the state of his bedspread. Ugh, he should have cleaned this morning. Or at least ran up ahead of Sam and made sure his room didn't look like...well, exactly like this.

“Very nice,” Sam comments. It's much like what he's been saying during the whole tour: little comments about the pictures of his mom, commenting on how soft the throw blanket sitting over the couch looks, how organized the front closet is. Sam steps up and lays a hand gently against Stiles’ side, clearly catching the flash of pain. “I like the colour coordination you've got going on.”

“Uh. thanks?” Stiles says. He looks around his room again and, huh, Sam is kinda right. “I got a new comforter a couple of months ago for, uh, reasons?” It had been covered in Scott's blood and no matter how many times he sent it through the wash, he couldn't get the stain out. “And I just got it in blue because the walls are kinda blue and thought it would like, look nice, but I didn't do it, like, purposefully.”

“Still looks good,” Sam fires back, and Stiles smiles at him warmly. It's getting easier and easier to smile the more time they spend together and the twist of his lips doesn't feel nearly as foreign as it did only a few days ago. With the memory of Sam’s lips against his, he doesn't even feel any pain when his smile stretches the healing scab. After a moment of silence where they stand around staring at each with admittedly dumb smiles, Sam gestures to his desk chair and asks, “Can I sit here?”

Stiles considers it for half a second before shaking his head. “No, I. That's too far.” He doesn't explain further, opting to straighten out his comforter and kick his boxers under the bed in what he hopes is a subtle manner, carefully using the inside of his foot because his toes are still crazy sore. By Sam's little snicker, he doubts he succeeds with the subtle part. “Sit,” he says once he's crawled onto the bed and is sitting cross-legged by his pillows.

Sam nods, though a look that Stiles doesn't like crosses his face. He wonders if he's gone too far for half a second before Sam's face falls into a confused grin as he sits right on the edge of the bed. Stiles snorts at him, and Sam pushes himself a bit further back before slowly drawing his legs up and then turning so he's facing Stiles in the most hesitant movement Stiles has seen from him yet.

“I'm going to be totally honest with you,” Sam tells him, and panic rushes through him until Sam continues with, “I've thought of being in your bed, like, way too many times to count and this is totally _ way _ better than anything I've ever imagined.”

Stiles' mouth drops open, his cheeks heating with a blush as he takes in exactly what Sam just admitted to. Sam seems to realize it only seconds later because he slaps both hands over his mouth as his eyes go impressively wide. The sight causes Stiles to throw his head back with a laugh, one hand going around his stomach and presses against his side when his entire body starts to ache. Through eyes that are blurring with tears, he sees Sam's face get redder and redder until he's blushing so darkly Stiles is almost concerned.

His laughing fit eventually tapers off, small giggles still wracking his frame every time he replays Sam's confession in his head and making his ribs ache and more. He pushes past the pain, too giddy at feeling so happy to be bothered by a slight—very intense and ever-present—ache. Gosh, Stiles hasn't laughed like that in...honestly, longer than he can actually remember. 

_ This damn boy. _

“That was amazing,” Stiles says with another bout of laughter. “Oh my god, I can't believe you said that out loud and that I actually found it cute.”

“You...found it cute?” Sam asks, finally dropping his hands from where they've been covering his face.

“Not sure what it says about me, but that was adorable,” Stiles informs him seriously, finding that he also thinks that this is better than anything he's ever imagined. Considering most of his own imaginings involved Lydia and him pretty much doing her every bidding in an attempt to make her happy, laughing with Sam in his room, awesome hot chocolate on the end table after their first date and first kiss, is probably the best thing ever.

“Well,” Sam starts, then says nothing. Stiles giggles again, feeling stupidly giddy when Sam puffs out his chest with a proud look on his face.

“Oh my god,” Stiles mutters fondly. He's hit with another wave of regret over not noticing Sam sooner. It's just so _ easy _ to be in his presence. Sam makes him feel safe, Stiles has realized, and he makes him feel comfortable in a way he doesn't with Scott and the others. He's always felt like he's had to put on a show, like he couldn't totally be himself just in case Scott realized how much of a loser he really was and left him, and that didn't get any better when their ‘friend group' expanded. 

Since they started sitting with the 'cool' kids during lunch, things have only gotten worse. More than ever, Stiles feels like he needs to monitor himself. It isn't like that with Sam. Maybe because he admitted to having liked Stiles for...well, _ years _ now, long before Stiles started to try to modulate himself so people would like him more, but it’s awesome. Awesome and really refreshing, being able to act without thinking through everything he does and says and knowing that they still like him.

_ Really _like him, if Sam's to be believed.

“So...” Sam hedges after a stretch of silence. Stiles' shoulders droop, and he drops his head to stare at his hands. He knows where this is going just by the tone of Sam's voice and the apologetic look on his face. “You don't have to tell me anything, Sti.”

“I just...you're not going to believe me, and I don't want to lose this.” It's easy to admit with the open way Sam is looking at him and the remnants of laughter in the air. “It's crazy. Even _ I _ think it's crazy and I actually have to live with it and deal with it every single day, and some days I wake up and I expect the last few months to all be a crazy fever dream, and they never are.”

Sam reaches for his hand, and Stiles wonders if the little thrill he gets whenever their fingers touch will ever go away. He really hopes that it doesn't. “I know we aren't super close, and that you don't have a lot of reasons to trust me yet. All I can tell you is that I will believe you. Trust me there...there's a lot of things I'm willing to believe, okay?”

“I'm more willing to trust you than you seem to think,” Stiles tells him quietly. They've had one date, a good one, yeah, but only one. Still, Sam already means a lot to him, which might be stupid and reckless and only because of everything that's happened to him but...he's not even sure if he cares. “I really liked going out with you, and I really, _ really _ liked kissing you and I'm scared that you're going to think I'm a crazy idiot once I tell you.”

“Well you're in luck, because I already know you're crazy and you are actually kind of an idiot, so nothing's going to change on my part,” Sam tells him teasingly. Stiles rolls his eyes, but he still squeezes Sam's fingers with a smile.

“Just...don't break up with me, okay?”

“B-break up with you? Can I...even do that?”

“Well our relationship would be pretty unhealthy if you couldn't,” Stiles jokes, knowing what Sam's really asking but unwilling to put it into words. It's too scary: the possibility of being rejected even if Sam's already expressed how much he likes him more than once. Stiles is used to people finding him too loud and too brash and too _ weird, _ and he's worried Sam has realized all the reasons no one likes him and is going to change his mind.

Sam doesn't crush the fledgling hope that's been growing inside his heart since Sam brought him a hot chocolate that morning, and instead kisses Stiles' knuckles before telling him, “You're right, that would be a super unhealthy relationship. Good thing ours is going to be awesome and super healthy and totally great all the time because we're both awesome and totally great!”

Stiles laughs at Sam's words, more grateful than he can say for how Sam rolled with his insecurities and reassured him effortlessly. It's things like this, how well they seem to fit together, that makes Stiles want to ignore whatever reasons he might think of to hold himself back and just jump into things feet first and with full enthusiasm.

“Okay,” he lets out a breath that causes his shoulders to slump forward, and he finds that other than a bit of apprehension over what he's about to say, he doesn't feel anything else. He's not scared, or worried, or any of the number of awful things he feels when he thinks about telling his dad. He's a bit nervous, sure, but when he really thinks about it, it's just because this'll be his first time telling anyone what a shit show his life has become. “Okay, let's do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what happens in the next chapter ... ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S THE REVEAL!!!  
_(i've also re-edited/re-wroked every chapter so a re-read could be a good idea!)_

“Scott McCall is a werewolf.”

Silence. Stiles isn't surprised in the slightest, but it doesn't stop the anxious panic from climbing up his throat and crushing his lungs and making him feel like he can't breathe. He's thankful that Sam is still holding his hand, even more thankful when Sam gives him a gentle squeeze that helps push down the panic. When Sam doesn't say anything, Stiles shrugs. He has no idea what else to say, honestly.

“Alright,” Sam says gently. Something passes over his face that Stiles doesn't know him well enough to recognize. “Is that why you were taken?”

Stiles nods. He doesn't question Sam's easy acceptance, too thankful to draw light to it even if he doesn't quite believe it. “Y-yeah. I, uh. I was taken by hunters. They, uhm—”

_ “Fucking Argents,” _ Sam hisses darkly, his grip on Stiles' hand going so tight that it hurts. He's reminded of how it felt to be in Sam's arms in the hall, and how Sam had felt so much stronger holding him than Stiles would have expected.

“What?” Stiles asks helplessly, drawing his hand back into his lap as his heart begins to race.

“Hunters don't take humans. We have a code that we follow, laws that we abide by and that scum of a family has been spitting on our regulation for _ generations, _ I—” Sam's face shuts down. He drops his eyes and clenches his jaw and it makes something tight and uncomfortable grow inside Stiles' stomach. This...it can't be happening, can it? It has to be a joke, _ right? _ Sam looks back up, and the despair on his face is too real to be anything but the truth. “I am so sorry that you were hurt.”

“I don't understand what's going on,” Stiles says quietly, drawing his shoulders in under Sam's heavy gaze.

“When I told you there weren't many things I wouldn't believe, it was because my life is pretty unbelievable,” Sam explains gently. “I'm a Hunter. Finstock is an old name, one that's been in the game for more generations than we can count. I—”

“Wait, Finstock?” Stiles asks, unable to keep the question down as curiosity takes over some of the blind panic and roaring for attention inside his head.

Sam smiles at him, though it's strained. “Yeah, Coach was my dad’s brother and he’s also my guardian. It's part of the reason he's always hounding on me in classes and stuff.”

“They let him teach you even though he's family?” Stiles asks, then berates himself for getting so distracted. 

“Please, as if he'd go easy on me just because I'm his nephew,” Sam says with a snort. Stiles tries for a smile, but it feels brittle. “I'm seriously so sorry, Sti,” the nickname makes him flinch, but Sam presses on, “we knew that there was something going on, that there was an Alpha and then the Argents' showed up, but they're good. They cover their tracks, and we couldn't figure out what was really happening.”

Stiles lets that sit, keeping his eyes on his hands where they're twitching in his lap. Dread is climbing up his stomach and making him feel sick. “Okay. So...so that's why you asked me out?” Stiles doesn't want to ask. He doesn't want to _ know. _ But there's a thought growing in the back of his head, a niggling bit of worry growing up from the pit of his stomach. He knows what happened to Derek Hale all those years ago, after all. “Because I know what was going on?”

“What?” Sam snaps, looking at Stiles with wide eyes. “Stiles, _ no! _ What the hell, why would you...do you really think I've been lying about everything I've told you today?”

Sam's voice breaks. It's that, and the look on his face that Stiles recognizes as fear for how many times he's seen himself wearing something similar, that makes his shoulders relax. He shrugs, though, and says, “I don't really know. I...wasn't expecting you to believe me, let alone be a freaking Hunter, and things like this have happened before. Well, maybe not with a human, I don’t know if a Hunter has ever tried to date a human, but I know that Kate went after Derek before the fire and that’s how a lot of that actually happened I...”

Stiles trails off when Sam starts to go pale. The boy takes several deep breaths that don’t ease the worry but also don’t make it worse. Hesitantly, Stiles reaches out and rests the tips of his fingers against his ankle. “Sam?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s..._ those fucking monsters,” _Sam swears darkly and with so much malice in his words that Stiles instinctually flinches back. Despair washes over Sam’s face, but he doesn’t reach out. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I keep saying that to you. This was never what I...the Argents are scum. The whole supernatural world knows that but this...this is low even for them.”

“I see,” Stiles says quietly, even though he still doesn’t really understand what’s going on. “So...you didn’t ask me out because I know about the supernatural?”

“_ No,” _ he says seriously. “I wasn’t lying. I’ve had a crush on you since eighth grade and I’ve silently pinned after you for two years and today was probably the happiest day in my _ entire life! _ I literally cannot believe that you said yes and that you _ kissed _ me, I mean, _ whoa _ that was freaking amazing and when you said we were dating I—Sti, I was over the freaking moon.”

When Sam finishes his spiel, he takes a big breath and shrugs his shoulders. He looks at Stiles steadily, with a small, sad-looking smile that Stiles doesn’t like nearly as much as his usual grin. There is still a bead of doubt in the back of his mind, but when he really thinks about it, that doubt comes from the constant put-downs from Lydia and Jackson and the lying that Scott has done to him. 

When he closes his eyes and tries to figure out how he really feels, he finds that none of his hesitance is because of Sam, or because he doesn’t believe him. It’s from years of never being enough, years of being found wanting but now...now, Sam just _ wants _ him. And that’s not something that Stiles has ever had before. 

So, he takes his own deep breath and says, “This is all just really surprising,” because it’s the easiest and most honest thing to say. 

Sam makes a face and says, “Yeah. Yeah, that was probably a bigger surprise than my hopeless crush was.”

“Not hopeless,” Stiles says, very quietly. Sam still hears him, and his face transforms into the dopey, adorable smile that makes Stiles' heart skip a beat. Sam reaches forward, and Stiles readily twines their fingers together as he takes a deep breath. “I have no idea what's going on, and we are _ so _ going to be talking about all of this, _ in detail, _ but it's...it's not hopeless, alright?” Because he, at the very least, knows that for sure. He knows that the way Sam feels is worth exploring, at the very least. 

“Yeah,” Sam breathes, kissing Stiles' knuckles in what's quickly becoming a signature move. “Yeah, that's really, really alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whAT DID YOU THINK???? I've been really excited to post this chapter for weeks now :D  
please let me know if there's anything you really want from this story or any ideas you have, i might just be able to fit them in ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just an FYI, I re-edited/re-wrote the first eight chapters. no big changes, but I've made a few little changes here and there to better fit where I see this story going!

“Did you want to...lie down?” Stiles asks, heart up in his throat. When Sam looks at him, Stiles drops his eyes to the bed. “It just...might be more comfortable than sitting up.”

“Oh.  _ Oh, _ well, I, uh. Yeah, it would probably be more comfortable than sitting up. Way more comfortable, even!” Sam rambles. Stiles smiles where he's still looking down at his knees, but he chances a glance up to see Sam grinning at him with pink cheeks. Well, at least he isn't the only one embarrassed.

“I just thought that it could be nice. To. To cuddle. That could be nice?” Stiles hedges to suggest, words getting caught up in his throat when he tries to say more.

“It'll be so nice!” Sam exclaims, tightening his hold on Stiles' hand. “I...are you sure you want to cuddle with me? Knowing that I'm a Hunter?”

“Yeah?” Stiles asks with a tilt of his head. “I mean it was a shock, and I definitely needed a moment to process there, but I'm not  _ mad _ at you for it.”

“Oh,” Sam breathes, his body slumping forward. “I definitely thought you were mad or...or scared. I thought you might be scared. Hunters aren't exactly...defenceless, to say the least.”

“Don’t apologize for being able to protect yourself. I...well, I wish I wasn’t just a human. It’s fucking terrifying,” Stiles mutters, then takes a deep breath and focuses back on the moment at hand. “You've never given me a reason to be scared of you,” Stiles tells him seriously, running his thumb over Sam's knuckles slowly. “I'll be honest, I don't know that much about Hunters and everything that I  _ do _ know isn't very good but...you know I like you,” Stiles' face gets warm, his cheeks heating up with the admittance, “and that hasn't changed just because you know about the supernatural.”

“Sti,” Sam says quietly. He rocks himself forward, raising just a bit onto his knees and leaning across the little space between them. Stiles meets him readily, and the kiss they share is soft and so sweet that it aches. Their lips linger together, skin catching skin, and Stiles lets out a shuddering breath at the sensation. It still feels so strange, foreign but incredibly exciting, and Stiles smiles widely as they both sit back.

“So. Cuddling. On my bed. We're going to cuddle on my bed,” Stiles tells him, flushing as a whole series of different scenarios flash through his mind. By the open-mouthed look on Sam's face, he's feeling much the same as Stiles is. “That’s an okay thing to do, right? Already? Cuddling is G rated and family-friendly so that’s...normal, right?”

“Yeah, I think it’s normal,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, Sti. You were my first kiss. Hell, you were my first  _ crush,  _ I have no idea what we’re supposed to be doing here.”

“Oh,” Stiles mouths, feeling increasingly overwhelmed by the look in Sam’s face as the other boy keeps  _ looking  _ at him. God, his eyes are so pretty. “Well, we can figure it all out together then, and there’s no, like,  _ rules,  _ so I think it’s safe to say we can do whatever we want as long as we both want it.”

“That sounds like a pretty good way to start things,” Sam agrees. “And as long as we talk to each other a lot, I think we’ll be okay.”

“Good. I want to be okay,” Stiles admits, before taking a deep breath and saying, “well you should probably come here.”

Sam nods, but he doesn’t say anything. At least Stiles isn’t the only one who is clearly out of his depth. During his entire infatuation with Lydia Martin, he never seriously considered them being together. She was so far out of his league and was so vocal about not liking him that he’s never bothered with fantasizing about them actually  _ being _ together. He knew it would never work out, but pining after her was safe with it’s guaranteed rejection. 

This thing with Sam is so, so different from that. It’s  _ real,  _ which is different enough, but with Sam, he can actually imagine them being together. Hell, he doesn’t even  _ have _ to imagine it, because Sam is raising onto his knees so he can crawl across the bed. Once he’s right in front of Stiles, he asks, “Do you want to, uh, lie against my chest, or maybe spoon?”

After a moment of consideration, Stiles asks, “You said you’ve thought about this before, right?” Sam’s entire face goes bright red, and he ducks his head. Stiles darts forward to kiss him very quickly, a little breathless that he  _ can, _ enamoured by his shy smile. “How do you picture it?”

“Well...if we’re just cuddling, I’m normally sitting a bit against the pillows and your head is on my chest,” Sam admits after a beat of silence. “If we’re sleeping it’s a toss-up over who’s holding who, but we’re usually spooning.”

“I can’t believe you’ve thought of all this,” Stiles says, though he immediately clarifies when Sam’s face falls, “I just mean it’s hard to believe that someone likes me so much.”

This time, it’s Sam who kisses him. Stiles follows him when he pulls back, chasing his lips and keeping the kiss going, rising to his own knees to get more. Sam’s hands grab his hips, and Stiles makes a deep noise in the back of his throat when they squeeze. Sam sucks in a breath but Stiles doesn’t pause in kissing him until the boy pulls back. 

“Fuck, Sti,” Sam breathes deeply, resting their foreheads together. Stiles doesn’t want to stop kissing, in fact he  _ never _ wants to stop kissing, and he grabs onto Sam’s forearms to keep him in place as he leans back in. 

Sam kisses him back without pause. Stiles purses his lips and then moves so Sam’s bottom lip is captured between his own. He sucks on the plush skin, humming happily when Sam’s hands spasm against his hips as he groans loudly. Hesitantly, Stiles parts his lips so he can grab Sam’s lip with his teeth, very gently biting down. Sam groans louder, his whole body moving forward until their chests press together. 

It makes everything better and Stiles finally reaches out. His hands grab Sam’s sides and slide up along his ribs to steady himself. He tugs on Sam’s bottom lip and earns himself another loud moan before he tilts his head and flicks his tongue out, licking over Sam’s top lip and groaning when it fills his stomach with warm arousal. 

Finally, Stiles has to catch his breath and he pulls back enough to breathe. Their lips are still touching but both of them are panting for air, and Sam’s arms move until they’re wrapped around Stiles in a hug. He rests their foreheads together, heart hammering in his chest so hard he’s certain Sam will be able to hear it. 

“Fucking  _ hell,”  _ Sam grunts as his arms tighten around Stiles’ waist. 

“Was that okay?”

“Dude that was,” Sam doesn’t finish but rather leans in and captures Stiles’ own lip between his teeth. The pressure shoots straight to his dick until he’s so hard he’s aching, unable to stop a little twitch of his hips as Sam kisses him all the breath right out of him. “That was that,” Sam tells him panting, still so close that Stiles can’t stop himself from leaning forward and brushing their lips together again, albeit chastely. 

“Yeah, wow, I get why so many people do that in the halls now,” Stiles tells him and Sam barks out a laugh that has Stiles’ heart racing a completely different way than the kiss did. “I’m not ready for any more than that,” he blurts out, because just the thought of  _ more _ makes his entire body tense up. 

“Oh good,” Sam breathes out, a hand running up and down Stiles’ back comfortingly, “I’m nowhere near ready for that either.”

Stiles nods, stealing another quick kiss before finally pulling away. Sam’s bottom lip is puffy and pink, spit-slick, and it makes Stiles’ half-chub kick back up. He ignores the arousal, staring softly at the pink that’s staining Sam’s cheeks and the happy smile on his face. Stiles never wants to look away from him. 

“So...cuddling?” he asks, and Sam nods determinately before confirming, “Cuddling.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last week was a busy week for me! i had two midterms, got my first ever [fandom tattoo](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/post/188703771534/i-love-you-3000-tony-stark), had a job interview & got a new phone! oh my!   
things heat up a bit in this chapter, so I hope you enjoyed ;) next week we'll have a lil' heart to heart between our favourite boys!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before reading, please check out the latest tags! this chapter isn't as happy as the others.

“So...Finstock?” Sam laughs, and Stiles can  _ feel _ it shake through him. It makes him shiver, and he cuddles even closer, grabbing Sam's hands and hugging himself tighter with his arms.

They decided to go with Stiles resting his back against Sam's chest, Sam elevated by Stiles' pillows pushed up against the headboard. Sam told him that sometimes he imagined them watching movies like this, with Sam being able to wrap Stiles up in his arms and hold him tightly. About thirty seconds in, Stiles decides he loves being held like this and that it's a totally great idea, which he tells Sam right away.

It's...heady, being so close. It makes Stiles feel light-headed, being pressed so totally against another boy. Every time Sam takes a breath, Stiles can feel it and he moves with it. Eventually, he notices that their breathing has matched up, and that's when he brings up the conversation that he knows they still need to have.

“He's your uncle?” Is what he ends up asking, words whispered into the room. It's not uncomfortable and it hasn't been since Sam first wrapped his arms around Stiles' stomach and tugged him back into his arms.

“Yeah, Finstock,” Sam snorts again, running a hand up and down Stiles' forearm. “He's technically my Uncle, but he's pretty much raised me since I was six. He took me in and looked after me when I didn't have anything. I...being a Hunter is dangerous. There's no way around that when you know about all the things that lurk in the shadows. There are codes and rules and sort of...moral regulations that are generally accepted at large, but there are no  _ laws _ in the supernatural community.” Sam goes quiet and still, a combination that Stiles doesn't think he likes. 

He turns onto his side, sliding off of Sam's chest so that he can curl his arm around Sam's side and hug him close. He runs a hand up and down his back until he starts to relax. Sam takes a shuddering breath, and Stiles can hear his heart racing as he cuddles even closer. Slowly, Sam begins to hug him back, his hand reaching from Stiles' hip to slowly slide around his back.

“I didn't understand that I would never see them again for years. They had always gone on long hunts, so for a while, it felt just like that. I think I really realized it when I was nine and Coach moved us here. It finally really clicked that they  _ weren't _ coming back since we were moving without them.” Sam's voice breaks, and Stiles hugs him tighter, feeling his own heart break. “It's dangerous. But I...if I can stop another child from losing their parents, I  _ have _ to do whatever I can.”

“Sam,” Stiles says softly, laying a soft kiss to his jaw and then dragging his lips over his cheek to breathe him in. Sam tilts his head enough that their lips brush, a sweet kiss that makes Stiles' chest ache. “Finstock is good to you?”

It's the safest thing that Stiles can think of asking, and it isn't a hollow platitude. Sam nods against his forehead, and says, “He's the best. I don't even really remember him all that much from before they died, but suddenly he was just...there, raising me, doing his best. I don't think he ever really wanted kids but I have no idea what I would have done without him.”

“That's great,” Stiles tells him seriously, not sure if he totally agrees with the assessment that Finstock didn't want kids. He  _ is _ a teacher, after all, and a really good one despite what most people think. “He was really good to me back in junior high when I was really messed up.”

“Your mom?” Sam asks gently. Stiles nods, thinking back to what it had been like, those first few months after his entire world fell apart. Coach was his gym teacher at the middle school, and he let Stiles sit in his office every single gym class and cry without mentioning it to anyone. Without that precious hour every single day, Stiles has no idea if he would have been able to handle it all.

“My mom died when I was eleven,” Stiles whispers into the space between them, moving so that his forehead is tucked into the crease of Sam's neck and shoulder and they're back to hugging one another. He tangles their legs together to get rid of any space between them, his own heart racing with how intimate it feels. “Frontotemporal dementia.” The words burn on their way out of his mouth, filled with so much pain. “I didn't really understand what was going on. She lost herself to it, but it was really slow. She would forget things, at first, and then eventually she just...forgot  _ me. _ It was really hard on my Dad, and we had a rough few years where neither of us were really...living. We were just going through the motions.”

Stiles refuses to cry, and he does his best to ignore the stinging in his eyes as he presses closer. Sam rubs a hand up and down his back, slipping under his shirt and pressing against his skin. Sam's hand is so warm and so gentle that he shivers, making a little noise of pleasure. Even if it probably should hurt, none of Stiles' aching bones are protesting their position. He hasn't  _ cuddled _ with anyone since his mom got sick, and the contact on top of their conversation is making him feel vulnerable in a way that would usually scare him. 

With Sam...it feels like his secrets will be safe, that he can be as honest as he never allows himself to be with anyone else.

“Sometimes I hate him,” Stiles whispers, his voice barely more than an exhalation of breath. “He just checked out after she died, and I  _ needed _ my dad and I had no one.”

“Sti,” Sam whispers, and this time he's the one who moves into a kiss, capturing Stiles' bottom lip between his own. He sucks in a breath through his nose and ignores his burning eyes, moving impossibly closer as he draws comfort from this incredible boy that he went so many years without noticing. The kiss doesn't end so much as come to a standstill, and they lie together with their foreheads resting against each other and their lips close enough that they can feel the other’s breath. 

“Things are better now,” he feels like he has to say, “Dad...he came back around. We were really, really close for a while. It was just us, ya know, and we had to get used to that and learn how to operate without Mom around. It took a while, but we got to a really good place but...” Stiles trails off, a tear finally spilling over when he thinks of the distance between them caused by his own lies. “I've had to lie to him for so long and now he—he barely comes home. I know there's always work to be done in this shit show of a town but—”

“You haven't told him?” Sam asks when Stiles' voice breaks, and while his tone is questioning there's no judgment to it.

“I have to keep him safe.”

Sam's quiet for a long moment, during which he keeps running a hand up and down Stiles back and occasionally purses his lips for sweet little kisses. Finally, Sam takes a deep breath and says, “I promise you, that him knowing is always going to be the safest option. You can't protect yourself against an entire world of threats if you don't even know those threats exist.”

Stiles doesn't answer, tucking his own fingers up under Sam's shirt and forcing himself not to startle when he feels a long, raised scar along his side. Silently, Stiles traces the furrowed skin with his fingers, replaying Sam's words and really considering  _ what _ would make his dad safer. He got so used to lying, to spewing bullshit tales instead of the truth that it's become his default.

When he realizes that, he hates himself for it.

“What if he doesn't believe me?” Stiles asks, biting into his bottom lip before he admits why he's so scared of his dad not taking Stiles’ words as the truth, keeping down the memories of the  _ last _ time he tried to tell his dad something unbelievable and the man accused him of lying, didn't believe him, not until he came home to find Mom pressing Stiles into the bath and not letting him up for air. “I can't have him not believe me,” Stiles says weakly, focusing on how warm Sam's skin is and how full his heart feels in this moment, and uses it to push away memories he keeps buried.

“I can help,” Sam offers, tightening his hold on Stiles' waist. “I can bring Coach, and we can do it together. We don't have to tell him anything right away, either, but you should consider telling him the truth. It really would be safer, baby.”

Sam’s stutters over the endearment and Stiles makes a noise in the back of his throat when it makes his entire body go warm. He shivers, more so because of Sam’s hand edging closer and closer to his waistband on each pass, and tucks himself tighter against Sam’s front. It’s almost impossible to tell the difference between their intertwined limbs. Stiles isn’t even sure there’s a difference, isn’t sure that they haven’t melted together into one being. 

Taking a deep breath, Stiles lets the offer hang in the air for several beats of his heart before he finally says, “Okay, but only if you're there when I tell him.”


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles wakes up slowly, his dream slinking past his fingers as he rises closer to consciousness. His dream self cuddles closer to Sam whereas  _ real _ Stiles just pulls a pillow tighter against his chest. With a small noise, he hangs on to the dream even as he rises fully into consciousness, wrapping his blanket snugger around his shoulders as he tries to get in a few more minutes of sleep.

Of course, that's exactly when his alarm goes off. With a groan, he gropes across his bed until he finds his phone and tugs it closer. Squinting, he snoozes the ringing alarm and then gets distracted from sleep by an awaiting text message. It takes him about forty seconds to make sense of the time, but once he's able to make out tiny, blurry numbers he realizes the text came in a few minutes ago.

It's probably what woke him up, actually. Stiles swipes across the screen to see what it says, and his heart does a ridiculous swooping thing inside his chest. Stiles has to bite down a giggle when he reads the silly message, and then he reads it again just to make sure it really says what he thinks it does. 

_ good mrng “stud muffin” (I sw the t-shrt ;)). cnt wt to c my BOYFRIEND 2dy! _

The term makes his heart race. Neither of them has actually used it yet, but Stiles is more than onboard with the terminology.  _ He has a boyfriend.  _ That's...that’s pretty freaking cool, all things considered. Stiles has known he was bi for a couple of years, but none of the years at school—other than Danny, but  _ everyone _ has a crush on Danny—ever caught his eye. Typing slowly, Stiles squints his eyes to ensure he spells everything correctly, and then sends it without letting himself overthink it. 

_ GREAT morning, since I woke up to a text from my BOYFRIEND. Can't wait to see you too <3 _

Stiles rolls himself out of bed, taking thirty seconds to regret the heart and then pushing that thought away. Standing up, Stiles sways in place before he pushes himself off to the bathroom. Stiles takes care of business and brushes his teeth all through half-lidded eyes, feeling marginally more alive when he scrubs his face with cleanser—sitting with Lydia and Allison at lunch had more perks than just being close to Lydia, and Stiles' increased knowledge of skincare had been the biggest one.

He checks himself out in the mirror, looking over his bruises and the few scrapes he has. He's a little shocked at how fast his bigger cuts seem to be healing, but he doesn't want to jinx it and knocks on the door frame as he leaves the bathroom. Healing fast isn't something that Stiles wants to dwell on, especially when he pulls on a t-shirt and has to grit his teeth against the pain. 

His freaking  _ stab wounds _ might be healing fast, but his ribs sure as hell aren’t, and his toes still kill him. Today, Stiles makes sure to grab a well-worn pair of shoes and some thin socks so that they aren't too tight, remembering just how bad it was to stand up yesterday.

Even though he's never really cared about his clothing before, he rifles through his pants drawer until he finds a pair of jeans he's never worn outside his house. Stiles owns a single pair of skinny jeans, purchased one summer he wanted to be more  _ ‘stylish’ _ and then decided he didn't care and mostly wanted to be comfortable. When he manages to pull them up (after  _ a lot _ of careful manoeuvring around his toes), they actually fit better than they did when Stiles first bought them, and he doesn't even need to roll them up since he’s had a growth spurt.

He looks at the shirt he’s already wearing and wonders if it’s good enough. He pictures the lime green t-shirt that Sam was wearing yesterday and thinks his graphic t will probably be alright, so he goes to grab a flannel. He sees  _ it  _ as he goes to grab an overshirt, blinking stupidly as he stares at the unfamiliar sweater thrown over the back of his desk chair. 

Huh. Looks like Sam left his hoodie. Stiles takes a hesitant step forward as if it  _ isn't _ just a piece of fabric, and holds it carefully between his hands.

Well. If Sam left it, it's probably okay to wear...right? He probably even left it on purpose, maybe. After all, Stiles' desk chair is pretty much right beside his bedroom door, so there's really no way that Sam wouldn't have seen it before he left. There is the chance that he had been  _ distracted— _ it wasn't Stiles' fault that kissing was so awesome—and he hadn't noticed it, but maybe he left it purpose because he  _ wants _ Stiles to wear it to school.

Girls do it all the time. It doesn’t mean anything that  _ Stiles _ is the one wearing it. That’s totally normal, probably. He doesn’t have much experience with gay relationships or what they’re supposed to be like, but Sam would probably wear  _ his _ sweater if Stiles left it at his house. Which...yeah, that would probably look good. Really good, actually. Hmm, maybe an opportunity will present itself where Stiles can totally forget his sweater—the red one that he likes so much—at Sam's house and then Sam will wear it to school...

His phone dings softly and Stiles dives onto the bed to see who it's from, hoping for a response from Sam. As he reads Dad's name, he realizes he hadn't even expected it to be Scott. When he thinks about, he can't even remember the last time his 'best friend' texted him. With a sigh, Stiles stuffs his phone into his pocket and pulls on Sam's sweater, smiling stupidly and wondering if Sam would be averse to picking him up tomorrow morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm recovering from bronchitis, which made for a really fun week off work which is gonna make for a really fun few weeks when i get my paycheque and have no money woo  
i did get a bit of writing done during my time off, mostly mcu stuff but!   
let me know what you wanna see out of this! so far i only have the next chapter written, and am hoping to pump a good chunk out today!


	13. Chapter 13

Stiles is in a very good mood as he pushes his way through the double doors of BHHS. The pain radiating from his toes isn't even enough to dampen his smile, especially when it feels so good to be able to grin freely. As much as taking a taxi every morning sucks, he's pretty sure he'll be able to scrounge up enough to get his jeep sent to the shop in the next few months, and he's still thinking about asking Sam if he'd be willing to swing by in the mornings.

It would definitely be a nice way to start his day.

His smile dims a little when Sam isn't waiting at his locker for him. The other morning had been really nice, but Stiles holds on to the feeling of happiness still bubbling around in his chest as he goes through his locker and gets what he needs for the morning. His text conversation with Sam is keeping him going, and every time Stiles' smile starts to fall, all he has to do is remember that Sam called him his  _ boyfriend, _ or tuck his nose into the collar of Sam's hoodie, and his grin is back in full force.

Unfortunately, he doesn't end up seeing Sam before lunch. Stiles doesn't share his morning classes with Sam  _ or _ the pack (which seems more and more like a good thing lately), but they do exchange a few texts during passing periods. Stiles keeps the sleeves of Sam's sweater tucked over his fingers even though it's his size, and pretends that he can still feel Sam's warmth in it as he huddles into it during his morning classes.

He's on his way to Sam's locker when a strong grip closes around his bicep and tugs. Stiles' entire body goes blank with pure terror, locking up so tightly that the scream clawing its way out of his throat doesn't make any noise. He can't even think as he's moved through the halls and into an empty stairwell, his heart beating so hard he can feel it echo through his sore ribs.

“Stiles, Stiles calm down, dude, it's just me.” Scott's voice takes endless seconds to filter in through the terror. When it does, Stiles doesn't breathe much easier. It takes him digging his nails into his palms to pull him out of it, the self-inflicted sting different enough from the torture he'd gone through that it helps clear his head. By the time he manages to take in a full breath, it's impossible to ignore how his chest is burning. “What the heck was that?”

“D-Don't touch me like that again,” Stiles says weakly, still aching from Scott's grip.

“What?” Scott asks, and then shakes his head as he seemingly gets back to whatever reason he had for dragging Stiles into an empty stairwell. “Dude, what's going on with you?”

Scrunching his forehead in confusion, Stiles asks, “What do you mean?” and the look Scott gives him has Stiles grinding his teeth. “Drop the look, Scott. I don't know what you're talking about.”

“There's something going on with you, man,” Scott tells him pleadingly. He reaches out, but Stiles flinches back without realizing it until a look of horror crosses Scott's face. “Dude...you've been ignoring the pack and hanging out with  _ Greenberg?” _

“Your pack, Scott,” Stiles tells him plainly, ignoring the thrill of anger making his heart race at how he says Sam's name, like Sam is  _ below _ him, like they weren't all the same type of losers only a few months ago.

“Stiles, dude, that isn't true. Of course you're part of the pack!”

“Am I? Because I can't remember the last time anyone in the “pack” tried to so much as talk to me,” Stiles tells him, words heavier with bitterness than we would have expected. Apparently, he's a little more upset than he realizes about his friend group all but cutting him out. He watches as Scott mouths uselessly at the air, clearly trying to come up with an excuse. “Yeah, that's what I thought. I've never been part of the pack, Scotty.”

The nickname burns on the way out of his mouth with how familiar it is compared to how foreign the boy looking back at him seems.

“Whose sweater is that?” Scott asks out of nowhere. Stiles blinks stupidly for a minute as he tries to make a logical connection between the conversation jump, and then gives up when he remembers it’s  _ Scott. _

“Why does that matter?”

“It smells weird,” Scott mutters, his nostrils flaring again. Stiles rolls his eyes and says, “That's real great, Scott. I don't really care if you think it smells weird.”

“I've never seen you wear it before.”

“Oh really? That's such a surprise since you're so wonderfully observant.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Scott demands angrily. Stiles grits his teeth so he doesn't flinch at the tone, and congratulates himself when he manages to stand firm.

“I don't know Scott. Maybe if you pulled your head out of Allison's ass and  _ talked _ to me every once in a fucking while, you would have known that I'm dating someone!” Stiles snaps. He ignores the way his eyes are stinging and he clenches his jaw instead, taking a step back when Scott goes to reach out for him again.

Stiles didn’t even  _ think _ of calling Scott after Sam left last night and...that says enough about the state of their friendship. Stiles had his first kiss, cuddled with a boy  _ and _ got himself a boyfriend all in the same night and he didn’t have a single urge to tell Scott about it.

“Dating someone? Is that why you're dressing different and ignoring all of us? God, Stiles, I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore.” His tone is laced with venom. Stiles has no idea how he's never noticed it before, but Scott sounds so  _ mean. _ Has he always sounded like that and Stiles just ignored it? Or, is this just another way they’ve grown apart since the supernatural tore their lives apart. 

Stiles takes a deep breath and remembers how  _ good _ he feels when he's with Sam, how he hasn't felt that way since...hell, since he was a kid and his mom was still around. He thinks of how  _ easy _ it is, and how he doesn't have to try to be someone he isn't. His voice is brittle when he says, “Maybe...maybe that's for the best, Scott.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Scott shouts. It echoes through the stairwell and makes Stiles flinch  _ again. _ He flinches, because the last time someone shouted at him like that, Gerard littered him with bruises and dragged knives over his skin. God, he hates that man.

“It means...” Stiles takes a deep breath and wonders why he's still protecting him. Scott hasn't been the little boy that played with him during recess for years. Maybe he never was, and the boy Stiles thought he was friends with was always more hopeful imagination on his part than anything else. He takes a deep breath, and he lets the words that he's been biting down for days slip out, “It means that you didn't even notice that I was kidnapped and tortured by your girlfriend's grandfather.”

“That's not true,” Scott says it so easily, like he knows with absolute certainty that Stiles is lying without having to even  _ think _ about it. That stings, more than anything else, because he has been in Scott's corner since they were  _ four. _

“Why don't you ask her? Or better yet, ask Boyd and Erica, who were strung up in that basement with me. Only you can't, can you? Because who the hell knows what happened to them.” Sure, Stiles hasn’t ever really been noticed by anyone in the pack, but that doesn’t mean  _ he _ hasn’t been noticing  _ them, _ that he didn't sit around during lunch periods and listen to them talk all while they ignored him without a thought.

Part of him feels bad for not doing anything about Boyd and Erica, but he had been so banged up that even driving Lydia to the warehouse had nearly been more than he was capable of. Besides, he wouldn't have stood a chance against all the hunters Gerald had in that house,  _ including _ Allison and her dad.

Scott goes to open his mouth again, no doubt ready to spew righteous anger at Stiles for accusing his girlfriend of something she's shown them that she's capable of, but Stiles just sighs heavily and says, “Look, Scott. I'm not pack. I never was. And I...we're not friends. Not anymore, not like we were and I—I don't think you really care. And that's fine, because you have new friends, friends who spent years bullying us and making us feel like shit. But I don't want to be friends with them, and really, I don't think I want to be friends with you, when you didn’t even notice that I was hurt.”

“What...Stiles, what are you talking about, when were you hurt?” Scott asks with a pout, and Stiles' heart breaks, just a bit, when it becomes painstakingly clear that Scott hasn't really listened to anything Stiles has been saying.

“Yeah,” Stiles says with a shrug, voice breaking. “What am I talking about?”

He doesn't give Scott a chance to answer, and instead ducks out of the stairwell and back into the hall, pulling out his phone with shaking fingers he can barely feel, and breathing through an overwhelming amount of panic as he attempts to type out a text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am really not in a super great place. i found out some really upsetting news and i'm just. struggling today. so some comments would really be appreciated! let me know you think of the story and where you think i should take it! i'm planning on a second, messier confrontation with scott later out, so don't worry if this wasn't dramatic enough for ya!


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles’ hands are still shaking by the time Sam gets to the parking lot. He knows that his text hadn't made much sense, not with how he couldn't get his fingers steady enough to type properly. He's unbelievably glad that Sam managed to parse out what he meant  _ and _ that he had shown up so quickly.

God, it feels like he can’t breathe. Everything is too tight—his chest, his breathing, the skin stretched over his bones. Not even the sting of pain caused by the way his fingernails are digging into his palm pulls him out of it. It feels like he’s spinning even as he leans his back against the now-familiar shape of Sam’s car and tries to calm himself down. 

“Stiles?” he recognizes the voice but it doesn’t stop the panic. He doesn’t think  _ anything _ is going to stop the panic until Sam steps closer, going slow enough that it feels like it’s taking him  _ hours _ with how slowly Stiles’ thoughts are slugging through his brain, and wraps Stiles in a hug. 

For a moment, the panic worsens so badly that Stiles is back in the basement, just for a flash, unable to move with the way they had tied him up. But then the warmth of Sam’s skin where his cheek is pressed against Stiles’ forehead registers, and then Stiles smells the spice of his deodorant, which feels so familiar after being wrapped up in his arms and pressed so closely together the night before, and slowly some of the shadows fade from his vision. 

“Stiles, baby, shh,” Sam whispers to him, and it's the  _ baby _ and the way Sam says it so softly that finally has Stiles calming down. He huddles closer and presses himself more firmly against Sam’s chest. Sam’s neck and jaw are so warm when Stiles presses his face against them. 

It feels like he’s hiding himself away in Sam’s arms, but he can’t bring himself to move yet. There’s a pressure rising up his chest that makes it harder and harder to breathe until he can’t keep silent any longer. 

“I’m s-sorry,” he stutters, and before he can stop himself his mouth is moving and what happened is spilling from his lips. “Scott grabbed me in the hall and I didn’t know who he was or what was happening so I started to panic, because I  _ always fucking panic, _ and then he was such a fucking ass hole and I—” his voice breaks, just the  _ thought _ of his words tearing his chest back up. “I don’t think we’re friends anymore.”

Sam doesn’t pull back. He doesn’t move. He tightens his grip around Stiles and cradles the back of his head with a hand in a move that makes him feel so, so  _ safe. _ “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Stiles hums, but he doesn't have any words. He thinks, maybe, he should feel...angry? But as the despair fades away under Sam’s warmth, he just feels numb. Because when he stops to think about it, this was a long time coming. When he  _ really _ looks back, the bite was the beginning of the end. And Stiles thinks part of him always knew.

He’s always been great with denial. 

“Are you alright? Do you need to leave? I can take you home if you’d like?” The offer makes his eyes burn. Scott hadn’t even noticed that Stiles had been  _ tortured, _ but here Sam is, offering to drive him home and miss class all because he had a fight with his friend who hadn’t really been his friend in weeks. 

When he finally pulls back, Sam doesn’t let go and Stiles keeps his own hands held together at the small of the other boy’s back. He’s able to smile—and sure, it’s probably watery, but it’s  _ there _ —up at Sam, and it’s so, so easy to lean in and kiss his chin. “Thank you.” Sam’s forehead creases, so Stiles adds, “For coming to me right away.” There were  _ so many _ times Scott had ignored his phone when Stiles needed him. “And for supporting me.” Because he can’t remember the last time Scott was in his corner and not off chasing Allison.

The crease in Sam’s forehead doesn’t smooth away when he says, “Of course I’m gonna support you, Sti. B-boyfriends, right?”

It’s adorable how he trips over the word, but Stiles finds that his own heart flutters wildly at hearing it. His grin, this time, is stretched wide with nothing other than joy. “Boyfriends.”

Sam’s smile is gorgeous and so big it crinkles the skin around his eyes. Stiles wants to get lost in it, doesn’t ever want to look away, always wants to be the cause of it. He also wants to  _ kiss _ him, though, so without closing his eyes Stiles leans in and presses their smiling mouths together until they pull with a laugh, too happy and smiles too strong to purse their lips. 

“Thank you,” he says again, and Sam’s smile melts into something even softer. 

“You don’t have to thank me for being here for you. You’re my  _ boyfriend,” _ Sam says it loudly and with a giddy tone to his voice that Stiles more than understands since he starts to nod stupidly while his smile grows wide once again. Sam looks him over, and Stiles gets to watch Sam’s face as he recognizes his own sweater on Stiles’ body. 

First, his eyes widen with surprise, and then his eyebrows draw down in confusion, and then his whole face transforms into something that looks a lot like...awe. No one has ever looked at Stiles like that, and the intensity of it makes him blush. He knows that Sam likes him, that Sam had a crush on him before they even started dating—hell before they had even  _ talked _ for the first time—but this...

He hadn’t realized it, not really. And it sits heavy in his chest, beside his heart, just how much Sam cares about him. 

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” Sam breathes out, nothing but an exhalation of air that Stiles feels over his nose because they’re still standing so close together, wrapped up in one another’s arms. 

“Of course I am. My boyfriend left it in my room last night,” Stiles teases. His own voice does something over the term that probably has something to do with how his face breaks out into a smile that makes his vision blur a little. 

“But...” Sam’s voice trails off weirdly. “Everyone is going to know you’re dating someone.”

“Well yeah,” Stiles says, his face pulling down in confusion. “That...I’m sorry, should I not have worn it?”

He backs away a little, hurt blooming over the elation that he still feels lingering around his heart. Sam’s face does something complicated that Stiles can’t hope to decipher but can tell isn’t good. 

“Wait you...do you want people to know you're my boyfriend?” There's something in Sam's voice that Stiles doesn't like the sound of.

“What? Sam, of course. Did you think I wouldn't want people to know?” The question burns at his throat, but he needs to know. 

“Well...kinda, yeah? I'm not really popular, ya know, and mostly I just get yelled at by Coach all the time so people tend to stay away from me. I'm not...really a catch,” Sam tells him with a sad smile but a resigned shrug of his shoulders, like it’s common knowledge. It makes Stiles even angrier about the way Scott had said Stiles’ name earlier because...

Stiles knows what it’s like to be on the bottom of the social food chain. He knows how much it can hurt to be ignored, how much silence can sting. He is no stranger to how biting words can be, either. Lydia had favoured them, cutting Stiles down with cruel remarks while Jackson and his friends knocked him around to leave matching bruises to the ones no one else could see. 

Stiles has always been  _ that kid. _ Sheriff dad, dead mom and an attention disorder don’t make for a great combination and that was only since  _ middle school. _ He’d already been cast out by his peers—he knows what it’s like to be five, sitting alone on his birthday with no one but his parents and stare at a party game that will never be played, because none of the other kids showed up. 

There is nothing he knows as well as he knows being a loser. And he can see the same shitty self-image it causes in you reflected back at him through Sam’s lowered eyes and the sad twist of his smile and the resigned slope of his shoulders. 

“Sam...” he leans in and kisses him hard, grinding their lips together and nipping sharply at Sam’s bottom lip. That bit of awe, the knowledge of how much Sam cares for him he tucked in his chest, gets layered over with the promise of protection. “You are  _ amazing.  _ I am so, so freaking happy that you asked me out, I don't even have words for it. I was being honest about everything that I said last night, Sam. And today...it really sucked until you showed up, ya know? But  _ you _ are the one who made me feel better, and made it all hurt less.”

Stiles kisses him again. He draws his hands from around Sam’s back so he can cup his face gently in his hands and smooth his thumbs over his jaw, holding his face as carefully as he can. Sam’s hair tickles his forehead and he pushes onto his toes to deepen the kiss, but pain shoots through his body and he pulls back with a hiss. 

“Fucking broken toes,” he mutters, leaning his weight against the side of Sam’s car and then hooking his hands around Sam’s neck to tug him down. Sam goes readily, his eyes fluttering open for half a second before falling shut as he leans in to kiss Stiles deeply. 

He doesn't let it go on too long, fully aware of where they are, but he sucks at Sam’s top lip and sneaks his tongue under it before he pulls back. Sam’s cheeks are dusted with pink, and there’s a shadow of stubble along his jaw that makes it look sharper. His hair is falling over his eyebrows messily, and when he blinks his eyes open they shine green in the sun. 

“You’re gorgeous,” slips out before Stiles has a chance to think about keeping the words down, and the blush along Sam’s cheeks gets darker. “I don’t care about anything you said, Sam. You’re my  _ boyfriend, _ and there’s no way in hell I'm going to do anything  _ but  _ shout it from the freaking rooftops with pure glee.”

“Damn Sti,” Sam says quietly, one hand running up and down Stiles’ back in long strokes. “You sure know how to make a boy blush.”

“Right back at ya, Sammy,” Stiles says, laughing when Sam’s entire face scrunches up. “C’mon! I need a cute nickname for you.”

“But... _ Sammy?”  _ he says with disgust, but his smile belays how he really feels. Stiles kisses him again, a quick peck, and feels unbelievably lucky that he  _ has _ someone he can just kiss like that, that he has a  _ boyfriend, _ and more than that, that his boyfriend is  _ Sam Greenberg. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soft insecure boy's so in love aww


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're reading this from a subscription email and are wondering what's happening with this chapter and why is isn't the most recent chapter, i didn't like the transition between chapter 14 and chapter 15, so i'm adding a few chapters to bridge this gap!

They go back to class. Stiles’ freak out doesn’t even last the whole lunch period—when Stiles called it a freak out in front of Sam, he got all huffy and kissed Stiles’ forehead, which was, like,  _ the best feeling ever _ —and so by the time he’s calmed down and he and Sam have pulled themselves away from each other, they still have enough time to get to their lockers and get what they need for their third class, which they happen to share. 

They don’t kiss in school. 

Neither of them says anything about it, but when they stop at Stiles’ locker, and then Sam’s, neither of them lean into the other. Oh, they hold hands the whole way, and Stiles says tucked really close to Sam’s side, wearing his sweater, but that seems to be the amount of PDA they stick with. Stiles doesn’t lean in for a kiss and Sam doesn’t lean in for a kiss, and at least for Stiles, it’s because it’s so new.

He wants to talk about it. He vows to ask Sam about it when the other boy drives him home. They promised each other that they were going to talk, and communicate, and learn this whole  _ dating _ thing together, and Stiles is determined to stick to that. 

However, he’s in Algebra, so he does his very best to stop thinking about Sam and how sweet and wonderful he is and pay attention to... whatever his teacher is on about. 

It’s hard, though, because sitting in Sam’s hoodie with Sam only a few seats away is  _ way _ different from sitting in Sam’s hoodie when he isn’t in the class. Or at least, it feels that way to Stiles. Every now and again Stiles looks over at Sam—and by every now and again, he means pretty constantly, which is probably why he has no idea what the heck is going on—to see Sam already watching him. Each time it happens, his heart starts racing. Half the time it happens, Sam isn’t even watching his face. No, his eyes are on his sweater. 

Near the end of class, Stiles pulls out his phone and does his best to keep it from being seen as he types out a quick text that pushes his heart into his throat. It still feels surreal that Sam likes him. That Sam is so  _ open _ about liking him. Stiles has never had that and it... well, it makes him feel breathless and giddy  _ all _ the freaking time. 

And Sam has been so open about the way he feels, it only seems right to do the same. 

He watches Sam’s face after he thumbs the send button. Not even a second later, and Sam shifts, doing a little hip-wiggle that Stiles is  _ totally _ all about. He forces himself  _ not _ to pop a boner in class just because his  _ boyfriend  _ moved his hips, and focuses on Sam’s face as he pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times. 

Then, he gets to watch the softest smile he’s ever seen fall across Sam’s face as his cheeks turn the most beautiful shade of pink  _ ever, _ and, without intending it to, Stiles feels his chest puff out proudly. Stiles drops his own eyes back to his screen, where the text  _ “your sweater makes me feel safe” _ is staring back at him in simple, clear to read text, and he feels his heart swell stupidly as he looks back up to find Sam staring at him heavily. 

Stiles' phone vibrates, and when he sees the message from Sam, he’s sure his smile does the exact same, silly, soft thing. 

_ Gd. Thts hw i alwys wnt u 2 feel. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> january 12th, i said. july 6th, i did. lmao, this has been a while, but we're slowly coming back! i've recently been feeling inspired by this story and this universe, so i'm going to try to be updating it a bit here and there! i know this a short chapter, but it's mostly to get myself back into the swing of things! 
> 
> in the comments, let me know what you're excited about for this story, and if you've been following it since the beginning, I really hope you've been okay the last six months!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note to my subscribers/anyone following this story: i've deleted what had been the "last" chapter. it didn't fit with where i'm taking the story, so it's going to be edited and, at a time, reposted!

When his class ends, Stiles stays in his seat as the room empties out. Once the last student has left, his teacher smiles and waves at him, no doubt used to his behaviour after the last week. He doesn’t move, not even when he’s the only one left. Instead, he stays sitting in his seat, the sleeves of Sam’s sweater puller over his fingers as he taps out a beat on his desk. Stiles’ textbooks are already piled on the corner of his textbooks and he keeps his eyes on wood-grain until someone clears their throat. 

He’s startled out of a memory he doesn’t want to be thinking about, and a smile stretches across his face before he even looks up. Sam is... hell, Stiles still doesn’t know how he never noticed it before the other boy held him in an empty hallway, but Sam is absolutely gorgeous. His hair is falling across his forehead and curling a little right above his ears. It’s a humid day, and Stiles wants to wrap those curling pieces around his finger. He wonders, as he watches Sam watch him, if he likes having his hair played with? Maybe the next time they cuddle, an idea that sends a shiver racing down Stiles’ back, Stiles can hold him and play with his hair. 

“You’re staring at me,” Sam says it quietly, but Stiles is so tuned into him that he doesn’t miss it. 

“You’re staring at me too,” he says, and his smile grows even wider. 

He finally pushes himself up and does his best to ignore the flare of pain that travels up his legs. He’s managed to narrow down his collection of ratty sneakers and sort out which two pairs hurt the least. That morning, he’d picked out a pair that didn't actively hurt but also looked okay with the damn skinny jeans he was trying to wear, and as he starts walking across the class, he’s glad for it. 

The last thing he needs is to cause himself  _ more _ pain, and if that means wearing beat-up shoes that have definitely seen better days, well, that’s a no-brainer. 

“Hi,” Sam says sweetly, once Stiles gets close enough for him to lace their fingers together. 

Stiles smiles back, feeling ridiculous at the way his heart starts racing, and echoes his own greeting. They start walking as one, synchronized as they head towards Stiles’ locker to get his things, Sam’s bag already thrown over his shoulder. 

“I don’t have practice today,” Sam tells him with a skip in his step and a wider smile stretching across his face. “Do you want to do something?” 

A little thrill runs down Stiles’ spine. He can’t remember the last time somebody asked him if he wanted to hang out. “I would love to. It... could be like our second date?”

From the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Sam’s smile go blindingly wide. It’s the prettiest smile that Stiles has ever seen, and even without seeing it head on it takes his breath away. He directs a wide smile of his own at the ground and squeezes Sam’s hand tightly. “That sounds awesome. Any idea what you want to do?”

Stiles hums under his breath when they get to his locker. “You could come over?” he asks, and hopes it doesn’t come across as too forward. 

With the way that Sam squeezes his hand back, he doesn’t think it does. They’ve spent time at his house alone before. It isn’t weird for Stiles to suggest that they do that again, right? They could go out, but when Stiles really thinks about what that would actually  _ entail, _ he finds himself shying away from the idea. Everything still hurts. He doesn’t want to make anything hurt any worse. 

Opening his locker, Stiles shoves his handful of books inside and ignores the twinge from his ribs. It could be worse. It  _ has _ been worse the last few days. Stiles finds it a lot easier to ignore the pain when he’s with Sam, having so much else that he can focus on instead of the ache that just won’t go away, no matter how many days pass. 

It’s just so easy being with Sam. Stiles knows that it’s still early, and thinking anything too serious is just silly and is, probably, bound to get him hurt, but... Stiles has always been one to feel deeply and feel quickly. He knows that he’s probably already in too deep, but he doesn’t care. 

Sam makes it easy not to.

“Yeah, if that’s what you wanna do,” Sam tells him, and then adds, “I have some homework I need to do, actually, but I still wanna be with you. Hanging out at your place would be the best of both worlds.”

“I can’t believe you just sang that,” Stiles says, and he hopes it doesn’t sound too relieved even if he’s glad for the reassurance. He reminds himself that it isn’t fair to doubt Sam for the failures of others, but it can be tough to remember that Sam actually  _ wants _ to hang out with him, and he isn’t going to complain about hanging out at Stiles’ house. 

Sam snickers and Stiles rolls his eyes, but he still offers, “I don’t have much, but I can help?” as he grabs the notebook he needs. Other than starting out the plan for an essay that isn’t due for a few weeks, Stiles doesn’t have any homework. In fact, if he gets his essay plan out of the way—and nothing is assigned tomorrow—he’ll have a homework-free weekend. 

He’s about to say something about it being a study date when suddenly Sam blurts out, “I like how your pants fit!” 

Since Sam is standing behind him, Stiles can’t see his face right away but Sam groans and no doubt moves to hide his face in his hands with the way his groaning becomes muffled. 

When Stiles looks over his shoulder, that’s exactly what he’s done. Tossing his head back with a laugh, Stiles can’t help but feel a little bit... giddy. “Good,” he says, feeling emboldened by the way Sam looks at him when he drops his hands. “I wore them for you.”

Stiles gets to see Sam’s face flush pink, and it causes his heart to race. No one has ever... well, no one has ever really called him attractive before. 

“That’s...” Sam swallows heavily, and a thread of warmth swirls up his stomach. “That’s really cool.”

Stiles laughs again, and before he can stop himself, he’s swaying forward into Sam’s space and kissing him softly. Sam kisses him back, just the gentle pressure of his lips pursing, before Stiles rocks back onto the balls of his feet. 

“So, my house?” he asks, just to be sure. Sam nods and takes his hand, darting forward and kissing his cheek when Stiles closes his locker door. 

A smile blooms across his face, so wide it makes his cheeks ache with the force of it, and it doesn’t fall the entire drive home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got a job promotion and started this past monday and things are STRESSFUL so this took much longer than i wanted, but, here we are! please tell me what you think about this chapter, as well as the story as a whole! the amazing feedback i get on this work is the only reason i came back after 7 months, so lets keep it up!!!


	17. Chapter 17

Stiles’ stomach feels warm when Sam’s hand wraps around his thigh. Since the first time Sam drove him home, days that feel like weeks ago, every time they’ve been in the car together his hand has gone to the same place on Stiles’ leg. There’s something about it that makes Stiles feel... safe. He thinks it might be because the first time it happened Stiles was shivering and spiralling and felt nothing like himself, but Sam still helped him, but as Sam’s fingers squeeze his thigh, Stiles feels something he can’t quite put into words. 

He knows that Sam would be there if Stiles needed him. If Stiles called, Sam would answer. Sam’s never let a text go unanswered and, even though it’s only been a few days, he’s always been around when Stiles needed him—hell, he was around  _ before _ Stiles knew he needed him. Stiles can’t say that about his “pack”. He may have been able to say it about Scott, once, years ago, but he sure as hell hasn’t been able to say it about him anytime over the last few months. The supernatural changed Scott, and not just because he can grow fangs and seriously ridiculous sideburns during the full moon. 

As much as it hurts to realize, Stiles doesn’t know if he really has any friends. Not anymore.

“Are you okay, Sti?” Sam asks him quietly, his hand tightening around his leg when his head turns toward him for a moment before focusing back on the road. 

Stiles nods, but he focuses his eyes on the road in front of them, intently watching the cracked pavement they’re eating up as they drive through town in a desperate bid at distracting himself. Stiles has never asked how Sam knew where he lived that first time he drove him home. It’s pretty common knowledge, seeing as his dad is the Sheriff and it’s a small town, but Sam is  _ really _ comfortable getting to Stiles’ house a whole bunch of different ways. 

To be fair, Stiles knows about fifty different ways to get to Lydia’s house from the school, and another fifty or so if he’s coming from his house, so. He can’t really judge. Thinking of that leads him right back to what he’s  _ not _ thinking about, though, and he lets out a tired sigh as he slumps further into his seat. 

There’s something that feels final about the way he’s thinking about the “pack”. Hell, just the fact that he’s thinking of them as  _ the _ pack and not  _ his _ pack is clear enough, he thinks. He wonders, idly, as he covers Sam’s hand with his own and threads his fingers between his, if he should be more bothered by it. 

It should hurt more to lose all of his friends, right?

“Just thinking,” he finally says in answer, looking over at Sam’s face and taking in the soft slope of his nose and the pink flush to his lips. He squeezes Sam’s hand as he tries to pull his spiralling thoughts into some sort of order. “I’ve never really had any friends other than Scott. I guess I’m just... thinking I should probably be more upset that I don’t really have any friends that seem to care about me.”

“Maybe you’re not upset because they’re shitty fucking friends,” Sam mutters under his breath, his fingers digging tightly into Stiles’ thigh. Sam takes a deep breath, and slowly his grip eases. Stiles watches his face. “Whatever. Friends aren’t all that great, anyway. I’ve never had any, and I’m fine.”

“Sammy,” Stiles whispers, feeling his heart clench tightly when Sam shrugs his shoulders and focuses back on the road. 

Stiles knows, objectively, that Sam never really had any friends. They’ve been going to the same school for a couple of years, and other than Coach yelling abuse at him, Stiles hasn’t ever seen anyone talk to him. Hell, before the other day when Sam came up to him in the hall and held him as he fell apart, Stiles hadn’t ever talked to him, either. 

It seems ridiculous now, knowing just how amazing Sam is. He’s kind and funny and he’s so handsome, that Stiles is absolutely floored that no one ever talks to him. Maybe it’s  _ because _ of Coach and the way he’s always so... well, so loud and aggressive and kinda rude. Stiles knows that’s certainly a reason he’s stayed away—Coach already yelled at him enough, he didn’t want to give the man any more reasons.

But Stiles knows what it’s like to be lonely. He didn’t always have Scott, and there were a few years in elementary school where he didn’t have  _ anyone _ at all. He was loud and energetic and, according to the other kids, weird. Too weird to be friends with, in any case. When he and Scott became friends, Stiles had stuck to him like super-glue before he knew how awful it felt not having anyone. Once he finally had a friend, he never looked back. 

Realizing that Sam never even had  _ that... _ makes his heart ache sharply. He lifts Sam’s hand from his thigh to kiss his knuckles, pressing his lips to each one.

“Sammy, you deserve so much better,” Stiles tells him seriously. “I know you’ve said it doesn’t matter, but I’m sorry I never took the chance to notice you before. You’re so amazing, and I kick myself a thousand times a day that I never looked at you earlier.”

Sam shrugs his shoulders again, but his fingers spasm around Stiles’ hand. “It is what it is, Sti.”

Stiles nods, but he says, “I’m going to make it up to you,” and means it with every fibre of his being. 

Sam doesn’t say anything, but it’s okay. Stiles kisses his knuckles again, and then cradles his hand between both of his own as they turn onto his street. He doesn’t know what else to say, especially since Sam doesn't seem inclined to talk about it. Stiles isn’t going to push the topic if Sam’s done talking about it, but he’ll hold his hand tightly and make sure Sam knows that he’s here for him. After all, Sam deserves the world. 

He’s opening his mouth to make a joke or turn the conversation towards something a little bit more cheerful, when he notices Dad’s cruiser in the driveway and something anxious and unpleasant rolls over in his belly. 

After dealing with Scott, he can’t deal with Dad. 

“C-Can we do something else? Please?” Stiles asks quickly, feeling his heart start racing at the idea of bringing Sam home to meet Dad when he hasn’t even spoken to the man in days. 

“Of course, Sti,” Sam tells him quickly, driving right on by without ever having slowed down. “We can do anything you want, baby.”

Stiles nods quickly, but he finds that he isn’t able to say anything until they turn off his street. “I-I’m sorry, I just...”

“You don’t have to explain, but I’m here to listen if you want to.” 

It’s so similar to what he said before Stiles told him about the supernatural that his heart gives a little flutter as he laughs wetly, kissing Sam’s hand again and watching the side of his face. God, he’s so attractive. 

“Did you ever eat lunch?” Stiles asks suddenly, “Because if not we could go get a burger or something?”

“I did not,” Sam says, sending Stiles a smile when he adds, “my boyfriend needed a hug and I was more than happy to provide my services.”

“Dork,” he teases, but something warm still unfurls in his chest at the reminder that  _ Sam _ is his _ boyfriend.  _

“You love my dorkiness,” Sam tells him, which is true enough that Stiles can’t even pretend to dispute it. 

“I am fond of it,” he allows, and he tosses his head back with a laugh when Sam shoots him a look. “I... I really like it when you use that term.”

“Boyfriend?” Sam asks, running his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles. Stiles nods shyly, feeling a little vulnerable with such an embarrassing confession. “I like using it too. I’ve... damn, I literally never could have imagined you’d wanna date me that I’m, like, constantly reminding myself it’s real.”

The words ring almost too familiarly, because it’s something Stiles has thought himself. Not about Sam, specifically, but it’s hard to believe that someone would want to date  _ him, _ dorky, hyperactive Stiles Stilinski. Which—

“Actually... there’s something I want to talk to you about something,” Stiles starts, feeling his heart rate kick up as something nervous climbs up from his belly. 

Sam squeezes his hands and starts to let go, but Stiles is quick to squeeze his hand tightly and hold on. “That doesn’t sound good, Sti,” Sam whispers. 

He doesn’t say anything else, but then he pulls the car over, stopping in front of a random house and taking his hand away to put the car in park. Stiles doesn't stop him and he pretends it doesn’t hurt when Sam doesn’t put his hand back on Stiles’ thigh. 

“It isn’t,” Stiles whispers, not sure if he’s trying to reassure himself or Sam when he adds, “I don’t think it’s anything bad.”

“Okay.” Sam turns his torso until he’s facing Stiles directly, a frown on his face and the light, teasing atmosphere completely gone from the car. 

Stiles doesn’t know how to start what he wants to talk about. He doesn’t even know  _ what _ he wants to talk about, not exactly, but he does know there’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he doesn’t like but has been doing a damn good job at ignoring for the last few hours, ever since he decided he was going to talk to Sam.

He also doesn’t know how to bring it all up. 

All he knows is that he doesn’t know exactly  _ how _ he feels about Sam not kissing him until school was over, but he doesn’t feel great about it. Stiles didn’t kiss him either, but at least he knows why he didn’t: he still doesn’t totally believe it’s real. Stiles has been put down  _ so many times _ that even the thought that someone might want to be  _ his boyfriend _ is... well it’s kind of unbelievable. 

_ Really _ unbelievable, actually, and it’s only been a day. 

What if Sam realizes he doesn’t want him tomorrow? What if the thrill of their first kiss wears off and Sam realizes he doesn’t like Stiles as much as he thought he did, but the whole school knows they were dating. Stiles doesn’t want to have to deal with the humiliation of being dumped and... well, while they aren’t  _ hiding _ that they’re dating, seeing as Stiles wore Sam’s sweater and held his hand throughout the day, kissing Sam in front of everyone feels different. 

Feels more real. 

And he doesn’t know if it’s the same for Sam, or if Sam didn’t kiss him for a totally different reason—Stiles wouldn't be surprised if Sam was embarrassed to be dating him—and that’s what’s worrying him so much. 

“You didn’t kiss me during school,” Stiles whispers quietly, keeping his eyes on Sam’s face and telling himself that no matter what it’s going to be okay. 

“You didn’t kiss me either,” Sam says sharply, his eyebrows pulling down and his jaw going tense as he stares at Stiles with the most defensive expression he’s ever seen on his face.

“I’m... sorry, Sammy. I wasn’t trying to accuse you of anything.” Stiles' voice is stilted, and his heart is racing so fast he can barely breathe. “We promised w-we were going to talk to each other.”

Sam lets out a sharp breath through his nose, before he slumps into his seat and hands his head, his floppy hair falling in front of his eyes. “No, you’re right. I’m being an asshole.”

“No you aren’t,” Stiles is quick to say, since it isn’t like Sam’s actually been  _ rude _ to him. “I’m sorry I said it like that. I just... we said we were going to figure this whole thing out together and I have no idea what the hell I’m doing and the  _ last _ thing I want to do is mess this up, seriously, because this is like the best thing that’s ever happened to me but I’ve been thinking about this for  _ days—” _

“Stiles we started dating last night,” Sam cuts in, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his face and his hand reaches out, hesitantly, to wrap his hand back around Stiles’ thigh.  _ Oh, thank god. _

“Okay, I may have exaggerated the timeframe a little bit,” Stiles admits, feeling his cheeks heat up with a blush. _ “But _ I have been thinking about it a-and worrying about it all afternoon.”

“Oh.” Sam takes a deep breath and seems to draw his shoulders up. He doesn’t look as defensive anymore, which Stiles is happy to see. His hand squeezes Stiles’ leg, and Stiles covers it with his hand before Sam says, “I’ve had a crush on you since the eighth grade, Stiles. That’s... it’s been like two-and-a-half  _ years _ since I first started crushing on you.” 

Stiles sucks in a deep breath of his own, his heart tripping over itself at Sam’s words. He knows Sam had a crush on him. Sam’s told him, more than once. It still steals his breath to hear him say it. 

“It’s... I woke up this morning and thought last night was just another one of my dreams about you. They happen often enough that it wouldn’t have even surprised me, seriously, and even though we talked about the supernatural and all the shit about our parents and none of my other dreams have been like that, cuddling with you and kissing you... that’s something I’ve been dreaming about for years. But... then your number was in my phone and I couldn’t find my sweater—” Sam’s hand moves to tug on said sweater, a silly smile crossing his face, “—and I realized it  _ wasn’t _ just a dream.”

“Sammy,” Stiles whispers, and he leans in to give him a kiss that tastes like possibilities. “It wasn’t a dream, but it did feel like one.”

Sam laughs, kisses him, and says, “God, I can barely believe it  _ isn’t.” _

“I know what you mean,” Stiles tells him quietly, shrugging when Sam looks at him. “No one has ever liked me before. Or, well, no one’s ever told me they’ve liked me, and honestly, I don’t think there’re too many other people silently crushing on me.”

“There should be,” Sam says sulkily, and Stiles snorts and the pout on his face and the way it trips his heart up. 

_ “As I was saying, _ the only person I ever tried to date was Lydia and... well the whole school knows how that went. I know I maybe took things too far sometimes, because she didn’t like me, but... it was so easy to keep liking her. I knew she was never going to like me, because she made it very well-known to everyone and it’s... it felt safe to keep crushing on her even though it really hurt.” Stiles takes a deep breath and closes his eyes as he whispers, “I really, really like you, but I don’t know how to like someone without it hurting.”

“She never should have treated you the way she did,” Sam tells him seriously, and Stiles can’t hold himself back any longer. 

He clicks out of his seatbelt and shrugs it off his shoulder before he leans against the console to kiss him, hard. Sam’s lips are warm against his own, his breath warmer where it fans across his upper lip. Stiles raises his hand to feel the jut of Sam’s jaw under his fingers as their lips move together slowly. Sam’s hand goes iron tight around his thigh, pushing up higher, and Stiles lets out a low moan that Sam echoes when Stiles sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. 

Kissing Sam like  _ this _ is definitely not something Stiles would  _ ever _ do in a hallway. Kissing Sam like this is just for them, and he can feel the way Sam agrees by how deeply he kisses him back, tilting his head and flicking out his tongue, licking behind Stiles’ upper lip and over his teeth. Stiles groans, sliding his hand further back to tangle it Sam’s hair as heat climbs up from his belly and makes him feel breathless and weightless and like he’s burning up from the inside. 

It’s so easy to kiss him. 

Stiles never imagined kissing would feel quite like it does, a thousand different sensations echoing across his body as everything melts together and stands apart until it feels like  _ so much _ he’s almost dizzy with it. Kissing Sam is something Stiles feels in every inch of his being; the pressure against his lips, the rush of warmth across his face, the goosebumps that erupt across his skin, the tingling of his fingers and the numbing of his toes until nothing matters but the sensation of Sam’s mouth against his. 

Eventually, they slow down. Long minutes pass that feel like hours dragging on and on, and he never wants it to end even though it has to. Stiles’ heart keeps racing so quickly it’s almost painful as he twirls his fingers around the ends of Sam’s hair, tugging softly in a way that makes him moan. Stiles swallows it up, their kisses wet, languid things that have his lungs burning for the way they keep his breath from his lungs.

He pulls back enough to rest their foreheads together and breathes in Sam’s air. Sam’s bands are trapped between their foreheads and tickling Stiles’ skin. He shivers, a rush of goosebumps trailing over his skin as he catches his breath. 

“I’m worried you’re going to change your mind,” Stiles whispers against his lips, voice shaking with nerves and arousal and all the irrational fears he keeps trapped behind his teeth. 

Sam laughs, humourlessly, but kisses him again. “That’s my biggest fear too.”

“Baby,” Stiles whispers, trying the endearment out to see how it fits, his heart racing wildly as he kisses Sam deeply. 

“You didn’t even know who I was,” Sam says, words getting swallowed up by Stiles’ mouth. 

Stiles kisses him harder, trying to claim him with his lips until Sam knows that he’s  _ his.  _ It doesn’t matter that Stiles had no idea how amazing he was a week ago, because he knows it  _ now _ and he’s never going to let him go. Stiles has the most amazing boyfriend in the world, and he’s not going to let Sam think anything else. 

“Fuck, baby,” Sam breathes. When Stiles pulls back enough to see him, his face is burnt red with a dark blush. 

“You’re mine,” Stiles whispers, hoping against hope that it isn’t going to be much, that it isn’t going to scare Sam away, but all he does is kiss Stiles back before moving to rest their foreheads together. 

“I’m so glad you let me drive you home,” Sam says, pulling back after a final peck and giving Stiles a smile that fills his whole body with warmth. 

“I’m so glad you drove me home,” Stiles tells him, and just as he’s opening his mouth to say something else, his stomach rumbles loudly and interrupts the heavy, heady tension surrounding them. They meet eyes, and then they both burst out into laughter. 

“Burgers?” Sam asks with a smile, his cheeks still rosy pink in a way that makes Stiles’ chest feel bigger than it actually is. 

“What if... instead of a drive-through, we went to  _ B Hills?”  _ Stiles asks nervously, chewing on his bottom lip while he watches Sam’s face closely. 

“The diner off the highway? What, fast food isn’t good enough for you anymore?”

“It’s not good enough for  _ you,” _ Stiles whispers, and Sam’s entire face goes soft. “I know we’ve gone for coffee, but this could be, like, a  _ real _ date. A date-date type of date.”

“A date-date?” Sam asks with a laugh, but he still leans over and kisses him. “I love the sound of that, Sti.”

“Good,” Stiles says with a decisive nod, settling back in his seat after another quick peck and putting his seatbelt on. He looks over at Sam with a raised eyebrow and tells him, “I’m ready for curly fries. Get going.”

And Sam? He throws his head back and laughs, and it’s the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen.  _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know what you thought :) 
> 
> i'm really excited that this fic has hit 20k!!! when this started, it was just a silly little crack fic... and look at where we are now!!! please drop a comment about what you're favourite moment over the last 20k has been, and what you most want to see out of this fic! who knows, maybe we'll add another 20k one day ;)


	18. Chapter 18

The next day, Sam drives Stiles home before rushing back to lacrosse practice. Stiles sends him off with a kiss that leaves them both breathless and flushed, and makes Sam promise to call him later. Sam, because he’s the most amazing person in the world, kisses both of Stiles’ knuckles, his nose, his forehead, and tells him that everything is going to be okay, just because his dad’s cruiser is in the driveway again. 

Stiles... actually believes him. Things might be strained, and they might be distant, but he knows that Dad loves him. 

It just sucks, because when Stiles really thinks about it, he can’t actually remember the last time that Dad was already home when he got home from school. Which is because Dad usually only gets home right at dinner time, but... hell, he can barely remember the last time that he  _ talked _ to Dad. The day Gerard took him may have been the last time the two of them had a conversation that lasted more than just a few words and that... well, the realization tastes like acid on his tongue. 

Acid or not, he can’t stand out on the front step for any longer. Sam has already driven away, seeing as he really did have to rush back to practise, and Stiles feels like Sam took his strength with him. Stiles forces his key into the door with shaking fingers. He tells himself that everything is going to be okay, just like Sam said, and worst-case scenario, Stiles could just hang around outside until Sam’s done practice. Stiles is pretty sure that he’d come to pick him up, if things go to shit and Stiles called him. Hell, Coach likes him well enough that Stiles might even be able to talk him out of making Sam train. 

Or... maybe he could watch?

With that  _ very  _ encouraging thought, Stiles pushes the door open and closes it gently behind himself. Dad might be sleeping, for all Stiles knows. He’s stopped checking what his dad works, even though his schedule is usually on the fridge, since Dad hasn’t been following it anyway. He’ll work extra hours, do doubles or pick up whole days. Sometimes he leaves Stiles a note. Sometimes he gets a text. Sometimes he doesn’t get anything, but Dad just isn’t home. 

Dad’s actually home, though. Stiles can feel the difference the minute he steps in the door. There’s a heaviness to the house that sets him on edge, and the air feels heavier.

Stiles toes off his shoes and slings his bag off his shoulder, going slow and gentle with the way his ribs still ache. Dad’s in the kitchen. He has a glass on the table next to him, filled with something amber, and for a terrifying moment that stops Stiles’ heart in his chest, he thinks it’s alcohol. Then he sees the empty container of apple juice beside the sink and his entire body sags.

Dad must see it, because his face goes tight and closed off. They watch each other for a moment that stretches on forever. The longer it goes without either of them saying a thing, the faster Sties’ heart races until he can’t help himself put pick at his nails.

Dad’s face drops to the table, and he clears his throat. 

“A friend drop you off?” Dad asks. There’s an accusation in his tone that has Stiles’ shoulders hunching in. If he’d gone to the window, he would have been able to see. “You didn’t use the change I left today.”

Stiles shakes his head and feels something heavy climb up his throat. His dad feels like a stranger and, this time, it’s Stiles’ fault. 

“Uh... yeah, I get a ride now,” he says quietly, watching his hands so he doesn’t have to see Dad’s face. 

“Scott doesn’t have his license yet,” Dad points out, with the same note of accusation laced through his words, as if he’s waiting to catch Stiles in a lie. Maybe he is. They both know he’s been lying for months. 

“It wasn’t Scott.” Stiles traps the rest behind his teeth. Chokes down werewolves and kanimas and Hunters who don’t follow a code. “We aren’t very close anymore.”

When Stiles looks up, Dad’s eyebrows are halfway up his forehead. 

“He got other friends,” Stiles whispers. Maybe it’s because it was only yesterday that finally admitted to himself that they were done with. That he finally allowed himself to realize that Scott... was never the friend to Stiles that Stiles was to him, but it hurts. 

It hurts so much. 

“Oh, kiddo,” Dad breathes, and something in his voice, the gentleness of his tone, makes Stiles want to curl up in his arms and never let go. 

He’s the one lying, sure, but he misses his dad every single day. 

“I’m dating someone,” he says quickly, forcing the words out of chapped lips and past his biting teeth, his heart racing in his chest and his palms sweating and Dad—

He smiles. But it’s forced. 

“That Lydia girl finally come around?” Dad’s voice is pleasant, at least. Stiles tells himself it’s just because he changed the topic so quickly. He does that a lot when he’s trying to get out of something, or when he doesn’t want Dad to catch him in a lie. 

It still stings. 

Stiles shakes his head, and he tries to imagine courage building up his across shoulders. He remembers the way Sam had kissed him, how gently his fingertips had been against Stiles’ cheek. How his other hand spasmed around Stiles’ thigh when he bit his lip. 

The way he had felt wearing his sweater for a whole day. “Uhm... no. No, my boyfriend has been picking me up and driving me home.”

Silence rings. Stiles counts his breaths. One, two, three— “Boyfriend?”

Stiles’ face scrunches up at the shock in Dad’s tone, and he hedges, “Yes?”

“And since when did you... want a boyfriend?” Dad’s words are clipped and his tone is hesitant, as if he isn’t sure how to ask what he’s trying to ask.

Stiles’ face just scrunches up even further. “Uh... forever?”

“Were you ever going to tell me that?” The accusation is back in Dad’s voice, and Stiles’ whole body goes tense. 

He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself down, but his answer is still short and clipped. “I did.”

This time it’s Dad’s face that scrunches up, and he says, “I think that’s something I would have remembered, Stiles.”

“I told you I was gay and you told me I couldn’t be. Not dressed the way that I was.”

“I...” Dad cuts himself off with a deep breath. Stiles stares at him, fuelled by the hurt that never really went away. He hadn’t even meant to come out that night. There had just been so much going on and Jackson was hurting, was  _ killing, _ so many people that Stiles, faced with his dad before him, had the terrifying realization that his dad could be killed without ever knowing who Stiles really was. 

So he’d blurted out that he was gay with little thought, and Dad had told him he wasn’t. 

Some of that must be showing on his face, because Dad scrubs a hand over his own before he heavily says, “Fuck, kiddo. I’m sorry. Shit, I thought you were lying through your teeth, trying to distract me from whatever the hell that you’ve been lying about—“

“I don’t know what you mean,” Stiles cuts in, when Dad goes to take a breath. 

Before he can keep going, something dark settles over Dad’s face and he snaps, “Don’t! Stiles... don’t. Not today, alright?”

Stiles nods weakly, fear climbing up his belly at the absolute exhaustion that suddenly appears to weigh Dad down. He wishes that he was sitting down, too, but he’s still standing in the hallway. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, and means it for so many things. 

He can only hope that Dad hears all of the things that he isn’t saying. That he  _ can’t _ say. Sam said he’d be safer, but... what if Dad doesn’t believe him? Dad didn’t believe him before, not when Stiles  _ needed _ him too, and then he didn’t believe him about being gay. How the fuck is Stiles supposed to honestly think that Dad is going to believe him about  _ werewolves? _

“I wasn’t the other lacrosse team that hurt you,” Dad states, his voice firm but resigned. He can tell that Dad believes he’s telling the truth, and Stiles can’t do anything but gape at him. It’s probably all the confirmation he needs. “You’re burning through medical supplies. I’m not sure how many cuts you have, but I can tell you that at least one of your toes was broken, maybe both. You drove your mother’s Jeep through a wall for more than just petty high school revenge. 

“I k-know you won’t tell me what’s really happening,” Dad’s voice breaks, and Stiles’ heart goes alongside it. “Whatever it is, Sti, I know you won’t tell me. So I’m going to get to the bottom of it, yeah? No matter what it is. No matter who hurt you. I’m going to find out, and I’m going to make sure they can’t hurt you again, alright?”

Stiles won’t admit that his eyes are watering, not until a tear slips down his cheek and he has to wipe it away. “I’m trying to tell you,” Stiles whisperers, fear heavy in his stomach. 

“Okay,” Dad says. He stands, and opens his arms, and Stiles is across the kitchen in a second. 

Dad hasn’t hugged him like this in months. His ribs still hurt, even if most of his cuts have completely healed way faster than they should’ve. When Dad hugs him, though, Stiles presses himself into his arms and clings on like he’ll never get to hug him again. For all he freaking knows, he won’t. Not with the life he’s been pulled into. Not with the things that go bump in the night. 

Not with his dad being the Sheriff. 

It’s okay, though, because Dad hugs him just as tight. His hands fist around the neckline of Stiles’ shirt and it chokes him, a little, but Stiles is pulling so tight at the back of Dad’s shirt that he’s pretty sure a button is going to snap, so he doesn’t protest. They cling to one another and for the first time since Stiles decided he wanted to see a dead body, the chasm of lies sitting between them doesn’t feel so great. 

It feels... well, it almost feels like Stiles might be able to cross it. One day. 

Dad squeezes him even tighter and he asks, “How about you have that boyfriend over for dinner?”

“Uh... can it wait? We’ve only been dating for, like, three days,” Stiles says into his chest, holding on tight when Dad laughs and agrees.

Something big, firmly-weighted and warm, settles in his chest. Stiles keeps hold of his dad and realizes, all at once, that no matter what happens he’s going to tell his dad about the supernatural. He’s going to come clean. The thought doesn’t make him nauseous, not the way that it always used to. He knows that he’s going to have Sam there, and Coach, if Sam was being serious about having his uncle helping out, and with his dad holding him tight, it doesn’t feel so scary. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE. STAN. JOHN. STILINSKI. IN. THIS. HOUSE.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> kudos aren’t the same as getting a comment, not even close. so a comment, as short and sweet or as sprawling and sporadic as you can manage, would be _greatly_ appreciated! don't know what to comment? how about _”this was great!”_ or _“awesome work!”_


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